Reflections 2024

Cistercian Preparatory School

REFLECTIONS Reflections 2024

Volume 41

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Volume XLI 2024 Cistercian Preparatory School 3660 Cistercian Road Irving, Texas 75039 www.cistercian.org

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Retirement Dedication to Dr. Tom Pruit Our literary magazine gladly recognizes that Dr. Tom Pruit has been for many years the principal guide – as mentor and exemplar – for all creative writers at our school. As he perhaps only half discerned when he began teaching at Cistercian in the middle of a semester ages ago, he had an important mission among us: to present the “old verities,” indeed, and in their most beautiful forms, and to do so in a convincing way, which is to say, with delight in his work and love for his students and colleagues. His steady hand, literally and figuratively, was with many young men, assisting, inspiring, and steadying them as they faced that initial leap from child to man that is always somehow a moment of shock. He showed us that we had to live up to the greatness of the works we faced, and had to live more deeply within the gifts we ourselves had been given without knowing it. His happy slap on the back could remind you that you are indeed free to be yourself, to move forward with urgency to living a good life. Always further up and further in! —Fr. Stephen, O. Cist., ’01 TO THE TOASTMASTER GENERAL Dr. Thomas Branch Pruit Every poem is really a toast, an honor with a host.

It lifts up a brimming glass or almost empty flask among a group of revellers already a bit disheveled.

It clothes their hearts in coat-tails, boutonnières, and veils, yet tells the party nothing new, but only what they knew already when the day began in words that maybe scan.

The poem accepts and raises up what’s gathered in the cup by long familiarity, and with sincerity distills that dew mysterious to liquor of experience.

When a sip of what has been is shared, “may it be!” is heard.

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Sean Connor ’30 Cover Art

Letter from the Editors To hear that something is chaotic is often a bad thing; if this “often” was every time, however, Reflections would have collapsed years ago. The pandemic would have thrown the team into a tizzy... the loss of seniors at the end of last year would have eaten up our work productivity... but the threats we faced this year were arguably of a much greater magnitude. Pietro, for example, frequently tempted the staff with ping-pong or golf instead of much-needed work. Weinberg and Theo invaded our room every other meeting, trying to coerce us into doing the daily Connections. Even Luke Raines appeared every lunch hour during the summer to chat up the staff. A good idea for next year might be to install a child-proof lock on the door. But Reflections thrives on chaos.

The uncertainty of every meeting’s progress meant more time shared together.

The spontaneous contributions of every person that walked into the room were invaluable—sparking the emergence of another one of Henry’s colorful spreads or one of Cub’s perfectly suited photographs. The cover we chose for this year’s magazine also reflects this spontaneity. The abstract painting by Sean Connor (’30) shows that while bold decisions made on the fly, like brushstrokes and colors, are risky, they can result in something beautiful. Though sporadic, and often chaotic, every action taken in or out of our humble abode in the Library Classroom has slowly accumulated into this 41st edition of Reflections. We embrace the chaos.

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Table of Contents Art and Photography A Place of Rest................................................... Cameron Allen ’30....................................................68 Krampus............................................................. Gabriel Berbarie ’26.................................................88 Cast No Shadow................................................. Canon Blackwell ’28................................................. 24 Cover Art............................................................ Sean Conner ’30..................................................Cover Calvin and Hobbes............................................. Liam Devlin ’27......................................................... 47 Triangle.............................................................. Liam Devlin ’27..........................................................31 Basketball........................................................... Benicio Flores ’29.................................................76-77 Great Blue Heron............................................... Henry Folmnsbee ’25................................................59 Blue Jay............................................................... Henry Folmnsbee ’25.................................................13 Coastline............................................................. Cub Gerber ’25...........................................................42 Dungeon Doors.................................................. Cub Gerber ’25..................................................... 56-57 Eye Study No. 4.................................................. Cub Gerber ’25......................................................... 8-9 Grecian Sunset.................................................. Cub Gerber ’25..........................................................6-7 Miniature Organ................................................ Cub Gerber ’25..................................................... 60-61 Upper Field Phantom....................................... Cub Gerber ’25..................................................... 92-93 The Petri Dish.................................................... Dhruv Gohel ’28........................................................ 97 Abstract Study in Purple................................. Owen Hanna ’30.................................................. 52-53 Forest Fire.......................................................... Josh Hays ’25........................................................ 38-39 Abstract Study in Blue..................................... Levi Herbert ’25.................................................. 90-91 Foxes.................................................................... Vin McColm ’29.........................................................34 Wilderness......................................................... Eddie Mauer ’25..................................................64-65 Frog..................................................................... Harrison Moran ’29..................................................28 Forest Sunset..................................................... Riley Murphy ’25................................................... 10-11 Macbeth’s Dagger.............................................. Patrick Neylon ’27.................................................16-17 Poker Night........................................................ Dylan Salcido ’25..................................................72-73 Grassy Field........................................................ Stefano Salomone ’25............................................... 19 Stairs................................................................... Joe Schultz ’26.....................................................84-85 Koi........................................................................ Peter Seiwert ’27.......................................................50 Dog....................................................................... Ethan Shaw ’29.........................................................29 Buck..................................................................... Max Stewart ’29........................................................ 27 Rhinoceros.......................................................... Andreas Tsoiutsias ’29.............................................26 Homerun............................................................ Davidson Wang ’29................................................... 23 Pig........................................................................ Bob West ’29.............................................................. 27 Moonlit Walk..................................................... Denise Williams........................................................96

Poetry and Prose

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A Tiny Conversation......................................... Cameron Allen ’30....................................................47 A Boy Named Determination.......................... Joseph Babich ’30............................................... 86-87 Drink of the Gods.............................................. Santiago Barajas ’24.......................................... 48-49 Innocence Lost................................................... Jamison Berard ’25..................................................8-9 E-Flat Major....................................................... Canon Blackwell ’28.......................................... 60-63 Night of Howling Storms................................. Canon Blackwell ’28................................................ 39 The Slumbering One......................................... Canon Blackwell ’28............................................ 14-15 Seoul Train Station........................................... Silas Choi ’25....................................................... 20-21 Always an Abyss................................................ Byron Duhé ’25..................................................... 16-17 What is Truth.................................................... Byron Duhé ’25......................................................... 96 The Match.......................................................... Andrew Eaton ’31..................................................... 69 Song for a Highway Sidewalk.......................... Will Edwards ’25................................................. 52-53 The Quiet Place.................................................. Brooks Griffith ’30................................................... 62 Forbidden Waters.............................................. Coleman Griffith ’25........................................... 90-91 The Wind Still Blows........................................ Dhanvi Indaram ’30................................................. 38 Gamble of a Lifetime........................................ Vaughn Irish ’25.................................................. 72-73 Winter in Kerala: Pantoum.............................. John Paul Jacob ’24....................................................95 My Holiday in Roma.......................................... Henry Junker ’31.................................................. 78-81 Sir Paddy (The Two-Year Old)......................... Henry Junker ’31..................................................82-83 Whispers from the Drenched Field................ Owen Kane ’25..................................................... 22-23 The Championship............................................ Pierson Kedora ’31............................................... 76-77 Fishin’ Chuck Style........................................... Charlie Kobdish ’25................................................... 51 The Phantom of the Upper Field..................... Dhruva Kumar ’25...............................................92-93 Reminiscence..................................................... Cash Lechler ’25................................................... 18-19 The Impossibilis Labyrinthus......................... Justin Lee ’30...................................................... 84-85 The Krampus..................................................... Justin Lee ’30...................................................... 88-89 Rain‘s Song of Death......................................... Marc Maalouf ’25................................................66-67 Salutisphobia..................................................... Austin Miller ’28.................................................30-33 The Darkness..................................................... Harrison Moran ’29................................................. 94 Water................................................................... Harrison Moran ’29................................................... 6 No Ordinary Town............................................ Riley Murphy ’25................................................ 64-65 Abbey of St. Wulfric.......................................... Robert Orchard ’30............................................. 54-57 At Midnight........................................................ Robert Orchard ’30.................................................. 36 Fox....................................................................... Myer Ortiz ’30...........................................................35 Vivid Memories................................................. Tomas Parra ’30................................................. 44-46 Sense of Spirits.................................................. Bobby Quinn ’25.................................................. 40-41 The Long Walk................................................... Rishabh Rengarajan ’25............................................25 The Story of a Book........................................... Rishabh Rengarajan ’25.......................................70-71 Love..................................................................... Dylan Salcido ’25...................................................10-11 Paranoia.............................................................. Dylan Salcido ’25................................................. 74-75 Across from the Fourth Hole........................... George Saliga ’25...................................................... 58 The Wrath of the Lake...................................... George Saliga ’25.................................................42-43 Zombies.............................................................. Kevin Zhou ’31...........................................................37

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WATER

Falling from the dark gray sky

Drowning out the wind’s harsh howl Pattering on trees’ leaves Dulling out all distractions A quiet overflowing with noise The toils of the day receding The mind, finally at ease Just listening to the sound Of nature’s greatest thing Rushing down the river Tearing up the life Nothing obstructing the might That’s coming our way The clap of thunder through the air violent crashing of the waves Eating away the earth The thrashing of innocent prey Caught in the cruelty of it all

by Harrison MoranHarrison ’29 Moran ’29

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Cub Gerber ’25 Grecian Sunset

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Innocence Lost Jamion Berard ’25 In the quiet corners of the orphanage’s halls.

There lingers a boy who mutely recalls.

The echoes of a past, veiled in gray.

Where shadows of conflict stole his parents away.

Amidst the laughter of children, he stands apart, Carrying burdens too heavy for his tender heart.

In his eyes, a depth, a sorrow undefined, A silent nod to the war left behind.

The walls whisper secrets of battles long past, A language of loss that forever will last.

His small hands, once held by those now gone, Grasp at memories, fleeting like the dawn.

In the nighttime stillness, when dreams take flight, He listens for echoes of a distant fight.

The rhythm of his heartbeat, a steady drum, In the silence, he feels where his past came from.

A photograph hidden beneath his threadbare sheet, A portrait of love, a memory bittersweet His parents’ faces, etched with lines of care, A reminder of a bond too precious to bear.

Through the window, where moonlight softly gleans, He gazes upon a world lost in dreams.

But within his heart, a battlefield lies, Where young innocence forever cries.

And so he waits, string at the mirror’s face Yearning for a love, a warm embrace.

His story is dark, his lifetime left cold, A silent witness to the world’s cruel hold.

Cub Gerber ‘25 Eye Study No. 4

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Love.

Dylan Salcido ’25 We all know this ain’t nothing Quit the judging Stop the shoving And just start loving

Hate is a cosmic force It causes the sun to bleed And the moon to bruise Until everything is abused

Everywhere I see hate It seems like the world’s permanent state One which will never sedate This we cannot debate

Hate is like a person driving the wrong way It’s like a movement without a cause It’s like a culture without a people It’s like age without wisdom

America the land of spin Always gets under people’s skin And when both sides hate each other Everyone will suffer

I’m sad because there is no love here Life becomes far too bare Then it becomes much to bear How do we combat this?

Will we ever know bliss?

Will we become like the rest?

And fail every one of life’s tests?

No nuance present Everyone on antidepressants The goodness of man is senescent The problem is apparent

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The answer is clear: Love yourself Love your enemies Love your brothers and sisters Love those around you We can wish the good of someone Without enjoying their company Love is a complex nuance It’s the person who’s there when life gets too harsh It’s the mom who finds the rope The one who brings you hope It’s a never ending response

Everyone makes mistakes So we must give them grace By not letting grudges control us So put down the guns and just discuss Make peace with enemies And with emotions Love is not an asterisk It’s a period.

Riley Murphy ’25 Forest Sunset

12 Brooks Griffith ‘30

The Quiet Place The golden trees shine as the sun begins to rise, The fauns begin to dance to a beautiful somber melody, As the golden trees catch the morning light, I feel as if I have taken a jog, and now the cold settles into me, For the amazing melody that is being played chills me, But gives me a warm feeling.

As the fauns dance and the tree shine, My soul plays a melody that I know is mine.

Quite happy and safe with a hint of sadness, But perfectly content to stay, looking at the trees.

My heart warms at the moves of the fauns, A strange peace settling inside me.

The fauns start to blur in my eyes, As they paint a beautiful picture.

I can’t quite tell what it is, But I don’t care to know either.

It is beautiful, that much I can see, I just wish you were here dancing among the trees.

The quiet place was made for me, It is quite perfect, under this golden tree.

As much as I want to watch, my eyes start to close, This wonderful place fading to a dream.

Then I awaken and wonder if I am still dreaming.

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Henry Folmnsbee ‘25 Blue Jay

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THE SLUMBERING ONE Cannon Blackwell ‘29

AT FIRST, IT KNEW NOTHING. Nothing but the black curtain of sleep and unconsciousness. It knew its own name, and only void. Its name was an ancient name, one only uttered by ancient peoples in terror and future peoples in thanks, as a prayer to command their armies to victory. Its name was Arixmethes.

He had done it. Dr. J. Marinsky had found a way to time travel. In his lab in New York, he had found a way to look into the great beyond, that which lay outside of Earth by electrical signal.

Thedoctordiscoveredthatbyshooting an electric current at a latent object, he could get to an image to return—a 3-dimensional image, in fact.

It was the first time it had been tested for a crowd. The great scholars of the world had gathered to see the time machine work, and the great reporters from the great agencies came to interview the joyful scientist.

At the stroke of noon, the doctor would send a go signal to a satellite with an “electron cannon” attached. A powerful electric current would surge up outwards, and the electrons would bounce about in space before reporting what they bounced off. This would come back in the form of an image.

It was 11:58, and a hush fell over the assembly as Dr. Marinsky, clothed in protective clothes and gloves, went up to the tremendous cylinder’s keypad, and typed in the access code. The loadout popped onscreen. 11:59. Dr. Marinsky’s gloved hand hovered over

the “Enter” button. A nervous chill went through the crowd, and a tense silence held them together. 12:00.

Marinsky pressed the button, and a green indicator came on. A smattering of congratulatory whispers tittered through the crowd. Unfortunately for the reporters, the little electric signal to the satellite did its job. On the loadout, a simple box emitted a copious amount of orange into a black nothing. Various sensors reported a loss of electrons from the central cannon. Much to the dissatisfaction of the scientists, nothing else happened. Or so said the loadout.

It felt. There and then, the unconsciousness that it had known for eternity was severed, and it felt.

It was not a big feeling, not a jab of electric energy, but that odd prickle one gets when he starts thinking someone just looked at him. For the first time since... eternity, the slumbering being that was began to cease its slumbering. It twitched, unhappy with its awakening.

And then, there was nothing.

And then, it came back. A grainy, black-and-white ultrasound kind of image began to flutter to life on the screen. It showed a large white mass where the moon was, little white dots where the stars lay, and a confusing elongated mass where... where a galaxy was? Nothing was charted there for that night, save the moon and the appropriate constellations.

The reporters clamored about, as obviously it was a meteor swarm, doubtless it was an incoming ion storm, clearly it was a Russian nuclear weapon, evidently it was an alien mothership. Well, that last one might have been a joke from someone who had played too much Metroid.

A few weeks later, when the image had come out on television and the news, Dr. J. Marinski decided to try and electron-photograph the odd thing again. His scientists had worked their tails off trying to improve the visibility of the machine’s pictures. had developed a more expensive and better sensor to get clearer images, and they had upped the number of electrons ejected into space, integrated the reporting system into higher detail, and set out to capture a more illustrating depiction of the thing.

Again, the reporting agencies from across the globe had rolled in like a thunderstorm to spark and drizzle and douse the poor lab in advice and questions. The leaders of the world, namely the President, watched from their private abodes as Dr. J. Marinski walked over to the great machine and lingered over the button to redo the event that had caused all this uproar. The moon’s position in the sky was noted, and the ejector rolled over to the expected position of the puzzling mass. At stroke of midnight, Marinski pressed the green button for the second time to photograph the great beyond.

And then it was back. In no time at all it felt the odd sensation that one gets when someone blows air at you or touches your utmost article of clothing. It was that chill, hair-raising, tangible feeling that makes one want to turn around and yell “Piss off!” But It did not know anything at all of clothing, or air, or of anything at all – at least, not until now. Arixmethes was waking, and it knew of something. It knew of that irritated anger that a nettled father or a great bear poked feels when he

15 has just about had it. Arixmethes turned lazily where it lay to face whatever had whispered over its back.

The assembled were stunned.

There in the midst of space lay such a tremendous thing with such a horrible face, and worse yet it had been looking toward them! Such images as those returned by the Marinski Project shook the planet once more. A giant bug sitting in space had been looking towards Earth without anyone ever knowing! The space crab, as it came to be known, was immense, bigger than the moon, bigger than any star around it. Its face was a horrible face of a tremendous lobster that had piercing eyes and a jagged mandible conglomeration at its mouth. Its back was like a mountain range, and its legs were like serrated overturned peaks that moved.

Arixmethes was awoken. The flows of ions that had jolted him from pure unconsciousness increased in number, and so he awoke. Simple as opening his long dormant eyes and flexing his previously immobile segmented legs. Arixmethes did not take well to being awoken however, just as a great beast finally snaps. It opened its great jaws and began to summon energy that had been stored up in its hyperspace travels into a great ball at its mouth. Countless amounts of dark energy and light filled its mouth. Arixmethes was ready. With one breath, it began to prepare itself for its first of many destructions.

Little did the Earth know, they had just incurred the wrath of the ancient destroyer, the slumbering isle, the great arisen one. They had stirred Arixmethes.

END.

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Always an Abyss Byron Duhé ’25 Towering over the surrounding scenery, the majestic mountain seemed like an indestructible fortress. However, despite its elegant shape, it stood largely devoid of life in stark contrast to the neighboring vast, verdant, and lush landscape. According to the people of the nearby villages, the mountain’s lifelessness has claimed the souls of many bold adventurers who have never returned from attempting its summit.

However, these tales did not stop a certain young hermit from settling this rocky wasteland. He built a cabin overlooking the rolling pastures, whose persistent pleas calling him away from the mountain he constantly refused. He had always felt naturally drawn to their mysterious splendor, but he suppressed these emotions in favor of settling where no man had settled before. Although he lived on the peak for many years without much issue, this longing grew as strong as ever.

One day, the man took a hike down the mountain and deep into the nearby forest. On his way back home, however, he noticed that the

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mountain had changed shape—it became more lopsided, and his cabin stood at a somewhat lower altitude than before. The usual sense of majesty which captivated him when looking at that elegant peak was meddled with a newfound trace of fright and angst. When he ascended to his cabin, the air became irritatingly rough and dry, almost as if he were inhaling dust from the mountain itself. He felt the coarseness of the air tear at his lungs. He felt his joints become heavier and stiffer as they struggled to support even his own weight. He felt his skin become rigid and take on a vaguely unsaturated, gray tone. As the day dissolved into darkness, he gazed into the distance and watched the gloomy clouds slowly piece together a formidable tempest. At this sight, something, some feeling that, despite all his efforts he could not explain, shuddered him with terror. He entered the cabin, whose door no longer fit in its hinge, to try to rest for the night. As he descended into his bed, the cold, ghastly sheets grazed over his skin and produced the sensation of descending into a coffin.

The storm truly raged over the crumbling cabin that night. The man could feel the severe substance of each individual raindrop showering the house with an array of ammunition. Each drop steadily eroded the foundations of the hermit’s housing until the cliffside suddenly crashed down. The storm had reduced it to rubble. The surface of the mountain caved on itself as the tempest left a gaping ravine in its wake. The former cabin and its inhabitant tumbled into their stony sepulcher. During the entire incident, the horrified hermit, paralyzed by some strange petrification, could only open his eyes and slightly gape open his mouth.

According to many, the cabin has completely withered away, but the man, in his utterly rocky form, still resides there at the bottom of the mountain’s deep scar. They say his trapped soul still lurks within the alpine pass. Here, his face, with its helpless expression of horror still vividly imprinted into the stone, serves to warn all who dare tread near the Peak of the Petrified.

Patrick Neylon ’27 Macbeth’s Dagger

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REMINISCENCE Cash Lechler ’25

As I sit and watch the squirrel crawl up the metal post of the bird feeder, I hear the familiar voice of my grandmother, “Would you like a fudge bar?” It’s the same question week after week.

“Bama, it’s 10 o’clock in the moming—but sure I’ll take one,” I respond. For as long as I can remember, every Saturday morning I would head over to my grandparents’ home to mow the lawn and help with any other work that needed to be done. When I was younger, I remember dreading the idea of wasting my Saturday morning doing yardwork, but as I watch my grandparents grow older, this task has become one of the greatest gifts I have.

When I finish all the work, I head inside to take a seat in the kitchen overlooking the freshly cut backyard. My grandparents come and sit with me, and we just talk. This has become our routine, yet it always feels so natural-never forced. My grandmother often thanks me numerous times for mowing the grass, but she doesn’t know that these conversations are all the thanks I need. Bama and Papa have so much knowledge to share, whether it be stories from their youth or tales from when my mother was young. I can see their eyes light up as they reminisce—it’s the storytelling that reminds them of details they might otherwise have forgotten.

Now a challenge has arisen which makes me more grateful for the time I spend with them every week. They are getting older and slower. Every week my grandfather tells about a new injury or pain that he has. My grandmother asks the same questions multiple times in every conversation as her memory weakens. This has really put life in perspective for me. I realize that these people who have done so much for me throughout my life will not always be with me. One day, they will be gone. Will I regret not spending more time with them? Did I show them how grateful I am for them? Did I make them proud?

These are the questions that race through my head. So, no amount of yard work, no amount of patience, and no fudge bar at 10 o’clock in the moming will ever deter me from heading over to my grandparents’ house every Saturday morning to cherish the limited time and conversations I have left with them.

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Grassy Field Stefano Salomone ’25

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Seoul Train Station Silas Choi ‘25 There was once a salaryman in Seoul, South Korea. The bustling streets surrounded by glowing lights masked the Seoul Train Station’s unnerving feel. It was 12:30 a.m., his time to clock out of his weary job and commute back home to his family. As he stood on the underground platform of the subway, the creaking of the wheels and the sound of iron hitting iron echoed through the air.

The Seoul Train arrived in front of him, but this time it felt different. It felt unnerving to him. The words on the electrical sign seemed archaic, but when he blinked it returned to normal. He dismissed it, blaming it on his lack of sleep. He had commuted on this train for decades yet he felt a lump form in his throat as he entered the train.

The doors sealed tightly behind him; he examined the passengers on board, a habit he often indulged. A family of two was seated directly in front of him, an American YouTuber was filming a video on his right, and on his left, a young boy dressed in a school uniform. The salaryman sat down and prepared to nap, when he suddenly felt a voice in his head, almost ethereal, ordering, “You may only get off at the last stop.” Spooked, he awoke and saw similar faces around him. The American dropped his phone and exclaimed “What the hell was that!” The mother, alarmed, wrapped her arms around her two children. The cart began to shake violently and the floor trembled like an earthquake be then it instantly stopped, it seemed to enter a free fall.

The windows flooded with a bathing light of the sun as the train exited a tunnel to a beautiful, green field. The subway should have continued underground for miles ahead, yet the passengers were watching the rolling hills of a pasture.

The train halted to a stop, unbalancing the salaryman. It seemed that the train had made its first stop; everyone had to decide whether to leave or to stay. The salaryman decided to wait.

Currently, he has been waiting for 30 years.

Only the American had left at the first stop, saying in a furious tone that he would have none of this. No one knows what happened to him. The eternal chugging of the wheels became background music to the salaryman as he looked out the window.

21 “It’s space theme today!” laughed David, one of the two children of the family, now grown up but still as immature as ever. It was true, the sky was a deep purple and the grass was now replaced with speckles of glowing dust.

At each stop the train goes to a new place: a European city with cobblestone roads, rolling plains roaming with buffaloes, or the beaches of Mexico. Of course, there were no people. The travelers always found a cart that held dinner plates filled with food. Each passenger was provided with the food of their culture, and the cart would restock every night.

One night after dinner, David noticed the salaryman staring out into the purple sky.

“You’re not thinking of stepping off right?” he said.

“How did you know that, David?” replied the salaryman.

“I’ve known you my entire life; you’re always staring off into the distance; but are you really going to step off?”

“Yes. It’s been too long, and I miss my family.” The salaryman looked at a photo of his daughter and wife.

The chugging sound of the train seemed to become not so eternal to him. The car rattled with excitement.

“Why not just live here? We get free food and you don’t have to worry about anything--especially those horrid overtime hours you told me about,” urged David.

“Besides, it’s too much of a gamble to go out. What if the next stop after you leave is the last one?”

The salaryman pondered for a moment but shook his head in determination. “I’m leaving this stop. I’m sorry, but if you do make it to the last stop, please tell my family about what happened to me.” The salaryman gave his photo to David.

The sound of wheels breaking pierced through the air, like a squeal of pleasure. The train made a thunk and came to a stop. Immediately, the scenery of purple changed to a harsh winter storm, as if urging the salaryman to stay inside the car. Mustering up his courage, however, the salaryman said his last goodbyes and departed the train with closed eyes. With one foot on the train and one foot on the ground, he flinched, anticipating the harsh wind blowing on his skin. However, he was met with a gentle breeze from an electrical fan. As he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the familiar, musty smell of the Seoul Train Station.

He was back where he had left, though the faded walls and the rusty railroads showed the toll time had taken. A voice echoed in his mind, “You may only get off at the last stop.” It was the same voice he had heard 30 years ago.

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Whispers From the Drenched Field Owen Kane ’25

Tuesdays always stir up a stormy mix of emotions in Ollie, because he has baseball practice. Usually this would be a cause for celebration, but all of his friends made the school team, and Ollie was forced to play with a group of strangers, only connected by their age.

The young boy still adored baseball, though, so he would always find himself enjoying the intricacies of the sport once he arrived. The hours dripped off the clock until it was eventually time for practice.

Ollie was dropped off by his father and began to make his way to the field. This field was not a typical one; it was hidden in a thicket and shrouded by trees. There was a single winding pathway that lead Ollie and his teammates to the field. The field itself was also unlike any other that Ollie had played on. The outfield was marked with yard lines, as if it were meant to be used for football, and the infield dirt was lumpy and uneven, causing unpredictable bounces. Most egregious was the pitcher’s mound, which was always soaking wet, so the dirt would sink in on itself. Each time the team used the mound, the hole in the mound would grow bigger and bigger.

“It’s like the mound wants to pull me in and eat me,” explained one of the pitchers on Ollie’s team.

“And the infield bounces like it’s trying to make me miss,” said another, agreeing with the pitcher.

While Ollie would never make any excuses, it was hard to deny that they certainly felt out of place. “This is the one baseball field that they certainly felt out of place. “This is the one baseball field that you’re not supposed to play baseball on,” Ollie thought to himself. Despite all of the players’ woes, the field was suitable for practice so no one took the initiative to try to find a different field to play on.

Ollie walked onto the field once again, just as he had always done. He looked up at the sky and noticed how overcast it was that Tuesday. The billowing clouds up above

looked heavy and ready to give way any moment; to Ollie, that was all the more reason to practice hard while he got the chance, so he hit the field and began practicing with his team.

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Errors and mistakes came like unheeded warnings again and again. Each time they would be chalked up to a bad hop, bad sleep the night before, or just the nature of the game. Soon the warnings became more direct. Piercing wind began to throw off the trajectory of the ball, and several players swore they saw lightning in the distance.

Practice continued, however, until it eventually became too dark to see, and practice had to be called off for the night.

The boys hurried to grab their bags before the rain came, as visibility was getting Homerun Davidson Wang ‘29 worse by the minute. But when they all arrived at the path to take them out of the wood, there was no path to be found. The fence just continued around, never yielding the opening.

Out of nowhere, thunder and lightning crashed like percussion and rain fell in sheets as if flood gates had suddenly been opened. The boys started shouting and screaming, but it was difficult to hear over the deafening roar of the wind and rain.

Suddenly, the lights on the field shut down, leaving everyone abandoned without their sense of sight. Ollie began desperately stumbling around. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know any of these people. He didn’t know where he was…until his foot suddenly caught something familiar.

The pitchers mound! Now maybe he could find his way out of this accursed field. But then Ollie felt something grab at his ankles. His heart dropped as he felt a cold, bony, inhuman hand grasp around his foot.

Ollie tried to rip his foot away and run, but he slammed against the soggy infield dirt.

Weight was all he felt as he gradually was pulled down into the field, unable to see or hear anyone. As Ollie choked on dirt and wheezed his final breaths he realized that he might cause bad hops for the next team to play on this field.

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THE LONG WALK

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Rishabh Rengarajan ’25 Footsteps, a softly trickling creek, the steady

path overshadowed on two sides by towering

hum of crickets, and the distant sounds of the

dead trees. The darkness had become almost

great city were all that we could hear. We walked

complete. The stranger muttered something

silently along the muddy mountain trail for

about wondering where we were. Nothing could

hours, watching the sun slowly traveling through

be seen but the enduring little light, wavering

the sky. At length, the stranger with whom I

in the distance, beckoning us onward. The

walked revealed his mission to me. He intended

disconcerted man said he had forgotten his

to rediscover his family’s ancient estate near the

destination; he requested we return to the city

peak of the mountain. Rarely visited, the fabled

lest we become lost. I said that if we simply

mansion hid in a shroud of secrecy and had

continued walking toward the light, we would

amassed a trove of fanciful tales over the years.

find our way. He slowly nodded with uncertainty

Regardless, it was too distant from civilization

and followed my lead. Enchanted by the silence,

to be of any significance. The stranger asked if I

we continued our trek onwards, soon becoming

would accompany him all the way, to keep him

unaware of even the sounds of our breath and

company. The explorer spirit in me encouraged

footsteps.

me, and I heartily agreed to his venture.

The light of the sunset had finally disappeared.

As we walked, the soundscape of our

Now nothing remained but a pitch-black void

surroundings fell away. The tiny creek had dried

and the solitary light. Presently we discovered a

up, the crickets had stopped their incessant

rocky clearing and the origin of the light—a warm

chirping, and the faraway city became silent,

campfire for weary travelers. As we approached

its cacophonous sounds of hustle and bustle

it, its light steadily brightened, its warm glow

replaced by quietude. The air also felt thicker

calling us to rest, and I accepted its request.

and harder to breathe. The paved path soon

Sitting down in front of the fire, however, I

disintegrated into dirt and sticks. As the light

noticed that the stranger continued walking.

of approaching dusk began to wane, the world

I called to him, “Come, sit here at the fire. We

seemed to become dull and tired. Soon, we were

must rest.” But the man made no reply. He looked

left walking through a motionless world, led on

as if his soul had left him. I watched him trudge

by nothing but a tiny light in the heights above,

slowly as his bewitched figure approached the

perhaps a beacon indicating the location of the

dead trees at the edge of the clearing. I watched

stranger’s lonely destination.

the desperate fire make a final, hopeless flourish

This entire time, the two of us remained relatively silent. But for the occasional appearance of an oddly shaped tree or rock, nothing intriguing ever occurred on our journey.

Finally, we passed through an almost infinite

in his direction and mournfully dwindle to ashes as the stranger walked into an impenetrable thick fog and disappeared into the deep recesses of the misty mountain.

Canon Blackwell ’28 Cast No Shadow

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Rhinoceros Andreas Tsoiutsias ’29 Buck Max Stewart ’29 Pig Bob West ’29

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Frog Harrison Moran ’29

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Dog Ethan Shah ’29

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hell are you doing, nerd!?” He said Sal•u•tis•pho•bi•a “The as he gets up away from me. As he looked (sal-OO-tis-foe-bee-uh) noun: the fear of safety

Austin Miller ’28

I woke up with a start and shot straight up. My hands were shaking with the excess fear from what I infer was a nightmare. I look around. This isn’t my bedroom, I thought to myself as I speculated a pitch-black forest with several streetlamps all lined up in a row as far as I could see behind me, and I was in the middle of one light. For some reason, even though the last thing I remembered was going to bed, I was in my school uniform.

Suddenly a row of lamps in front of me burst to life, and I saw a body, equally in the middle of the illumination of the streetlight in front of me. He was in the same school uniform I was in. I was scared to get to his motionless body, as he was seemingly far away from me and anything out of the seemingly perfectly symmetrical light from the lamp was as dark as void. I mustered up the courage to go across the black gap, but as I went, I saw movement in what seemed to be the woods next to me. Overwhelmed with fear I ran straight forward and made it into the adjacent lamppost.

What the heck was that, I question as my frazzled mind tries to keep up with the current events. While looking around, my attention jolts back to my peer lying still on the ground. As I tapped his unmoving body, I suddenly realized that he was Brayson, my school tormentor.

He immediately gets up and swats away from me, the look of annoyance in his eyes was unmistakable.

up, I could see that he froze as he took in the surroundings, his back was lit up in the strong light as he seems petrified, and I got a reminder of how intimidatingly big he was. He’s the star of the tackle football team, and seems to have it out for me for a reason unknown.

He turns back to me, “Where am I, twit?!” he shouted, trying to scare me as his face pierces through the darkness to snap back at me, but I could hear a quiver of fear in his strong, raspy voice. “I s-swear-I don’t know anything more than you do! I just woke up over there,” I pleaded, pointing to the lamppost that I had just ran from.

Suddenly, looking at the electric light, “Wait a second, do you have your phone on you?” I asked with a desperate cling to hope. Brayson’s face lit up as he searches his pockets and pulls out a phone, severely damaged from the times I’ve seen him throw it around carelessly.

As he tries to type out his password as quickly as possible, failing several times throughout, I see something move in the lampposts far ahead. It seemed to be a shadow drifting through the lights and coming closer at an alarming rate.

“Brayson, I think something is-” “Shuddup, nerd!” Brayson interrupts me sucked into the fact that his phone has no service and he was currently trying to fix it.

“Brayson! There’s a shadow and-” “Fix your dumb glasses and SHUT. UP.”

If I wouldn’t have done anything, we both could’ve died, so I take his phone and throw it at the shadow as hard as a scrawny kid like me could. Of course it only landed in the next lamplight.

“What the hell?!” He screams and pushes my face down onto the dirt. He gets up to try to see where his phone landed right as the shadow gets to his face, and they exchange petrifying screams as the shadow vanishes and Brayson falls butt first on the ground.

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an almost indecipherable explanation on how the monster was going to kill us both and I was going to get him killed. The fact that he was the tough, strong one and he was the one that was breaking down and crying, disgusted me. With the shock of falling shortly wearing off thanks to the feeling of anger, I slap Brayson into sense and kick him away from me.

“What was that?! That was our one chance, and you…” I then realized the throbbing pain in my arm, accompanied by a feeling “… George,” His voice that I had never felt managed to tremble before. It was familiar, out. “What was that?” yet unrecognizable.

The jock asked I look at the center pitifully and still of the throbbing, shaking, showing my shoulder, to his weakness by see a wound deep referring to me within a withering by my name. Even infection. It was though I felt sorry only something for him, my anger that you’d see in helped me tune him fantasies, and it out. I then realized was several layers that the shadow is down into my skin.

Li am 27 as scared of us as we I suddenly realized ‘ Devlin are scared of it! It was that the feeling was pain, that simple! What else and this terrible realization could explain its unorthodox brought me to my knees. fleeing? I piled all my hope into this idea and beckoned the monster with safety Surprising both Brayson and myself, I washing over me. It got closer, and closer, did not cry, but instead I insisted upon it was practically there! I wouldn’t listen finding our homes as soon as possible. to the cries of that stupid jock with me when“As we saw, it seems as though the shadow can only exist in the light, where “GRAAAAAAAAAH!!!!” I fall to the there is something to help it interact ground as Brayson hits me with a with the world around it.” I speculated, sorrowful battle cry. He hit me over and quivering from the pain I burdened. “We over again from a screaming rage that know this from the fact that whenever it turned into some kind of a crying fit with goes out of the light, it disappears, and

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comes back again in the light. As scary as it may be, out only chance is to go into the dark beyond the lamps.” Brayson understands that this is a life or death situation and chooses to follow me into the darkness side by side out of fear.

the grass beneath my feet had been turned into turf in the transition, and so had the weather, which had changed from nothing to a pouring storm, which seemed impossible, but nothing compared that has happened to us prior.

As soon as we walked a couple steps, we hit an incline and fall down the steep hill. The sudden fall jerked my senses away and I lost all feeling of where I was.

As soon as I hit the bottom, I heard that Brayson had too, and I looked up to see that the hill was as tall as a building, and I knew we couldn’t go back up.

Looking at the house closer, I saw a room with the wall that would be facing us was completely gone. In the room was empty, besides a king-sized bed with two adults sleeping in it. I was hesitant, but Brayson ran towards them shouting “Mom! Dad!” with the happiest tone I’ve ever heard him in.

The feeling of safety overwhelmed him, and he didn’t even notice the fact that they both had a gaping, bloody hole in their chests. I tried to warn him, but the moment he stepped twice into that room, the wall reappeared, and with a great thunderclap, the entire stadium disappeared.

“What do we do now?” Brayson asks, now fully relying on me as hope. “We go farther in until we find something familiar.” I say with I hope at least a bit of bravery and leadership.

The farther we go in, the more strange the trees are, which we manage to make out by the lighter shade of darkness in the night sky. I start to wonder, why would the monster be scared of us if it knows it could kill us easily, referring to the deep scar on my shoulder, which I had not been able to see since we were deep in the darkness. Well, it can’t get us here in the dark, but is the dark really the reason it can’t? Then I realized that I had been shaking the entire time we’ve been in the dark.

“Brayson, what if the monster can only get us when we feel saf-” Suddenly huge lights burst spontaneously where we had been standing. After my eyes recovered from the sudden transition from pitch black to wholesome light, I saw that the football stadium lights were all pointing at an unfamiliar house. I realized that

What can I feel but remorse and fear, I thought, but I didn’t feel anything, just an overwhelming feeling of emptiness, a familiar feeling that I have felt before.

Behind me, I suddenly hear the great clap of spotlights, and I turn around to see my own house, completely illuminated. I see my parents. I turn again, not bearing the thought that they were dead, and ran straight in the other direction. After maybe ten steps I hear the spotlights turn off, so I looked back and saw the house still there, the wall still gone, but my parents vanished.

Then an idea struck me, and I start to run to the house. Mine didn’t disappear like Brayson’s, so I might be able to find a clue, or a way to get out of this crazy mess. I open the door to the hallway and

run into the living room. I realized that I had weapons and toy guns upstairs, which wouldn’t be much, but would make me more defended, so I bolted up the stairs. As I ran through the hall I see my sister’s room’s door open by just a sliver, the lights off. I cautiously slip inside and close the door behind me in fear, and turn on the lights.

There she was. My big sister was in bed, and she was alive. I rush over to give her a hug and start crying, blabbering out all of my predicaments and pains.

“What are you talking about, George?

It’s the middle of the night and you’re dressed for school!” She asked for a very good reason, because I was terrible at explaining things. I decide to tell her the bad news first, “Mom, dad, and Brayson are dead.”

“George, stop. You always get like this.

Mom and dad are out of town, and you know that Brayson died years ago.”

The entire world seemed to freeze at the moment she said that. I didn’t believe her. I just watched Brayson die, and mom and dad are dead, but my scrambled mind made me put this paradox aside anyway.

“I don’t care, I just need you. You’re the only one I can rely on…”

“Okay, okay. Just remember, you’re safe with me.”

Safe. The word struck me funny as I recall what I had said to Brayson.

Brayson, what if the monster can only get us when we feel...SAFE.

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I ran. I ran from her. I ran as far away as I could. I need someplace I’ll never feel safe, somewhere where I will always be in fear. Out of my house, down the street, finding all I could to always be in danger. …

I’m walking down the country road at night, a gun held to my head held by none other than myself. I haven’t eaten for the past couple days in fear of finding safety in satisfaction. I hobble down the road into a forest, where everything is pitch black. I force myself to shiver in fear at the sight of the bending, twisting trees, the howls in the distance that meant nothing to me anymore, but they had to, for the sake of my life.

I walk straight into a steep hill and can make out a light on top of it, but I had no care of what I might find, and in the process of sitting, I fall straight onto the ground. Why not pull the trigger now, get it over with? It’s the safest way of dying quickly without pain or torment. No, no.

I can’t because…

That would be too safe.

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Vin McColm ’29 Foxes

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Fox

Myer Ortiz ’30

A fox burrows deep into the ground to feed its kits.

Her ears twitch in the stillness of the wilderness.

She looks like a flame tearing across the grass with its red-orange color.

The sharp, bushy tail looks almost like cotton on the tip.

She flies across the field, almost as silent and swift as the wind around it.

The fox’s beady eyes are similar to deep ponds in the dark; If you lock eyes with her, you will find yourself lost in the darkness.

You can see how much she cares for her kits, protecting them with her life.

The kits adore their mother; You can see it in their body language, Like how they brush their heads on the fox’s legs, or how they rest around their mom.

Anyone can tell they love each other, even on a rainy day.

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AT MIDNIGHT Robert Orchard ’30 Terror at midnight, nightmare figures emerge, Red-eyed, slithering, How very, very eerie, as death begins to approach.

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The Wind Still Blows Dhanvi Indaram ’30

You may feel happy -- celebrating life, But the wind still blows.

You may need help -- crumbling inside, But the world still grows.

What seems like a big thing to you Is not noticed by the world.

When you’re the most important, The minds of others similarly swirl.

Know you’re not as significant as you think, And your humility will glow.

You must know that whatever happens, The wind will still blow.

Νύχτα Καταιγίδων που Ουρλιάζουν

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[Night of Howling Storms] Canon Blackwell ’28 Zephyr ran crying through the trees, And the trees shook at his touch.

Birds fled the unearthly thing, What was plaguing the night?

High above in eternal blackness The orator gathered his crowds.

They screamed and cried and shook the skies, With a thunderstorm of night.

Out from below, the dead rose up, Corralled by no dead god.

For he feared him who stirred: The ancient, elder night.

He rose, he looked, he shook From his back the soil of centuries.

And laughed at the roiling heavens And the trembling trees at night.

He was an ancient terror, a forgotten spirit, Long had he slept in the depths of Etna.

Now he rose and smiled and said, “I am returned tonight.”

Josh Hays ’25 Forest Fire

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Sense of Spirits Bobby Quinn ’25 In the small Texas town of Destiny, hundreds of miles from any other settlement, there is a single road, vaguely lit by the dim yellow light of old streetlamps, and an old tale. The story is believed by the ancient residents and told to every visitor at the worn-down gift shop. It increases sales. A new visitor enters the weary store. An old man with a cracked face and hunched back whispers just above the volume of the wind; this is the story he tells: Two hundred years ago, when the spread of Americans westward into the wild lands of North America first began, the people feared the bloodstained red dirt of Northwestern Texas and tried with all their might to avoid it. The frightening creatures dwelling in this landscape heightened their suspicion and kept travelers on the toes of their boots. Eventually, one group of settlers, led by brave Kentuckian Ebenezer Smith, ventured into this savage wilderness. Traversing the deep, winding canyons, walls soaked with red and covered in Indian drawings, the wagon train tumbled along. The crackling step of a deer walking over brush, the howling cry of coyotes above the canyon walls at night, the deadly rattle of the snakes, or the shallow rumble of a distant stampede all caused the hairs on the travelers’ backs to stand up. They felt that they were always being watched, for all around them were towering walls—inescapable if something were to happen and able to hide anything in their sharp folds.

The brave pioneers found a slight opening in the canyon, wide enough to settle down for the harsh winter months approaching; something about the gloomy weather over the red jagged earth made them wary of continuing. The small town they erected, unbeknownst to them, was on the site of ancient burial grounds, a holy site for the fearsome Apache tribe.

They soon learned about a deep large cave, just around a bend in the walls of the canyon, its mouth agape with sharp teeth on either side beckoning any prey in; the settlers avoided this cave at all costs — rightfully so, for inside resided an angry Indian tribe. On a cold cloudy day in the gloomy winter month of January, the weather just as wretched as they had assumed, as the sun was setting and the earth fell dark, the citizens of the scraggily thrown-together town noticed faint glows of dim light in the distance, flickering like small

41

flames. Led by the brave Smith, they were fully prepared for something like this. He sensed attack.

Smith led his small cohort in the valley of the canyon walls against the brutal attack of the Indians. What should have been an ambush turned into a lengthy battle, although the savage Indian’s sharp hatchets seemed no match for the dull muskets of the white man. The pioneers were saved by some sanctifying grace,however, and these white settlers prevailed against the Indians. It was a bloody massacre, and only one Indian escaped. Brutally maimed, he managed to crawl his way back into the cave under the cover of darkness, where, later that night, he bled to death.

Before breathing his last breath, the wounded Indian cursed all futures generations of the white settlers living in the town for their cruel disrespect of the ancient grounds and for their massacre of his people. He shouted with all his might an everlasting curse to harm the living descendants for eternity if they did not obey his wishes. The old man with the cracked face paused. His story was complete.

As the sun began to set, the visitor noticed the absence of people roaming the street. People were acting strangely. They were gluing windows shut, nervously checking behind their backs, and, most weirdly, spreading red dirt around the doorways of their homes. The new visitor didn’t understand; he passed it off as a weird local custom. But this was something he would surely regret. As the sun was setting, he heard a shallow rumble in the distance. Looking all around he could see clouds of blood red dust creeping toward the town, blocking out the last rays of the sun. Then, the buildings shook as people inside were slamming doors shut. Now he began to panic, desperately looking for somewhere to hide; he barely noticed the torchy lights glimmering in the distance or the slight hum of Indian war cries inching their way closer toward the town.

He hid in a small closet off the side of a building, hoping he was safe, his eyes plastered on the road ahead through the slits of the creaky, wooden door. He watched as the ghosts of Indians ransacked the town but avoided the homes which had taken precautions. He thought he was safe and had avoided the assault — but he didn’t notice the small shadow growing bigger and bigger as it inched closer and closer to his hiding spot. The shape of the shadow morphed from a blob into that of an Indian chief, with chunks of flesh missing and light shining through where it should not. As it got closer, the visitor felt a strange calm — until the ghost ripped the door off the hinges and grabbed him. Then the world faded to black.

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Coastline Cub Gerber ’25

The Wrath of the Lake George Saliga ’25

In January, men barred the waves from the shore, creating a barrier of boulders to preserve their little park. Constantly, the swooning waves thunder down upon the rocks, the pressure of the water coursing between the boulders up to the edge of the sidewalk. The waves no longer fold over on themselves, gilding over soft sand with a glimmering foam. Now they only batter against the limestone, slowly turning the great boulders into sand once again. In a gap between the rocks stretches a bridge which extends out into Lake Michigan, giving a panoramic view of the place. The wind blows fiercely at the edge of that boardwalk; it whips your hair across your face, peltering you with a cold mist. Underneath

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are slats through which can be seen the water, forever raging, often frothing over the lip in anger.

To the east are numerous old factories. Clouds of smoke attempt to obscure the hideous hunks of pipe and rusted metal imbedded along the coast. A gas flare, emitting a ruddy orange, can be seen burning among the rust, like an Olympic torch worn away by the passage of time. Visitors to the park never look to the east if they can avoid it, for it is a hideous sight to behold. The real beauty is to the west, where emerges the skyline of Chicago, with various structures sparkling like gems on the horizon. It is prettier than the most perfect cluster of stalagmites, which hide in the dark, for the glass towers glimmer under the beaming rays of the sun. It is such a spectacular view which rouses the envy of the waves.

The lake never used to be so turbulent; before the park was constructed, it was placid. However, the people no longer come to the coast to admire the lake; now they come to marvel at the work of their own hands, their beloved Chicago. Such arrogance would not go unpunished by the lake, which has garnered the strength of an ocean. Though it bashes against the boulders, it does not yet have the audacity to wipe out the little park, because then it would uproot its fellow trees, whom it is supposed to nourish with its very lifeblood. No, the lake is still merciful enough to spare its kin.

Instead of demolishing the park, it pulls away people one by one, swallowing any who fear not its strength into an undertow. If a man fights against the might of the tide, he will surely perish, for not even Leander could survive the Hellespont during the storm. One might perchance be spared if he submits to the pull of the current, for then, after the lake has beaten and spat upon the man, it may release him from its grip once again. Woe to the man who respects not the power of the lake, and who places his admiration upon the works of man.

IVID MEMORIE VIVID VIVID MEMORIES MEMORIES 44

Tomas Parra ’30

The wind ruffles my hair as I stand by her grave, Those many vivid memories on my mind.

The times I think about how I could save That one girl whose light always shined

I did what I could—I try to agree, That this isn’t my fault, And yet it pains me— like a wound with salt I go back in time to that fateful day, I wish I could move not stand and watch, But I know this game—and it’s one I don’t want to play, I wish I could change it even just by one notch.

I can see her crying over her loved one, I reach out towards her calling her name, She tries to save him, but she knows he’s done, I try to save her but it’s always the same.

My words never leave my mouth, They wouldn’t have reached her ears.

This was all going to go south, And reach the apex of my fears.

The crying had stopped, I knew what happened next She let go of his head—it flopped, And stepped to the cliff as if she were vexed.

45 I fought with all my soul I fought against my chains I fought to reach my goal I pulled against my strains

I cried out to God in my distress, I was getting punished for many a sin.

That is the reason I’m in this mess, That thought sent a shiver through my skin.

“There is no god on earth!” I said.

I raved and screamed, and pushed and fought.

The battle of wills inside my head, But I knew it was all for naught.

As she stepped closer to the edge, I fought harder and raved into the sky, “I have to save her; I made a pledge!”

But even she knew that her time was nigh.

I questioned God’s power once again, “If you’re so mighty save my daughter, Please Lord, help my daughter to regain, Her senses and not end this in slaughter.”

My efforts turned to rage and spite I tried to push my way to the edge But I knew I could not win this fight.

But I still aimed for that ledge She looked down at the rocks below And saw a way to join her friend At first, she started off slow But then she started to descend

46 In all life’s cruelty this was the worst, Allowing me to witness my own daughter’s death, After she left the ground, I was no longer cursed, Once again it left me to see her last breath.

I crawled to the edge to see her form, Facing up towards me with those eyes, Whirling up inside of me was a storm Full of longing, rage, and sighs.

I feel the tear roll down my cheek, I sob and pound into the ground I can still feel the tear where it left its streak I visit here every day; the place where she drowned.

I remember her face, eyes closed in peace, Like she wasn’t dead; just asleep.

I hope she’s not in pain; her torments cease.

I tossed her friend in to join her in the deep.

Finally, the curse had released its hold, But I’m still thinking about the girl I couldn’t save, I’m back in the graveyard, and the cold These vivid memories will haunt me to the grave.

Nobody knows where she was buried In the water of the scree where the dark things scurry She and her friend are serried At the bottom of the scree with not a single worry.

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A Tiny Conversation

Cameron Allen ‘30

There once were seven mice, Talking in the street.

I’ll tell you what they said As it was told to me.

Said the First to the Second, “What is that awful smell?”

Said the Second to the First, “It’s oatmeal made very well.”

Said the First to the Second, “I told you it was real!”

Said the Second to the First, “I was eating my morning meal.”

Said the Third to the First, “I’d like some honey in my tea.”

Said the Second to the Third, “Then go and find a bee.”

Said the Seventh to the others, “Do quiet all your yells!”

“Why?” said the others.

“I can hear the kitty bells!”

Said the Fourth to the Fifth, “You’ve grown a lot of hair.”

Said the Fifth to the Fourth, “Have you noticed I don’t care?”

Said the others to the Seventh, “Your old and hard of hearing.”

Said the Cat to all of them, “Tasty morsels for my eating!”

Said the Sixth to the First, “I do believe I smell it too!”

Said the Seventh to the others, “I’ve just been to the loo!”

Said the Seventh to the rest, “Run away! Run away!”

“Too late!” said the Cat And he ate them anyway.

Liam Devlin ‘27 Calvin and Hobbes

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Drink of the Gods Santiago Barajas ’24 They rowed on. Sweat beat on brows, arms ached under the stress, yet eyes stayed bent on the horizon. The little boy opened his mouth but did not dare to speak.

He let them row on.

At last the men paused, and the little boy could no longer restrain his curiosity.

“What will happen if we drink the drink of the gods?” he asked.

“Others say they have drunk it.

But those three who drank it died.”

The little boy went silent. He had heard the Arthurian tales of the Holy Grail, but he had not known that Sir Galahad, Sir Percival, and Sir Bors had not survived. A frown creeped onto his innocent face.

They rowed on.

“Some say we will become immortal.”

“But didn’t King Arthur never die?”

“Like the Hindus! Are we going to drink the Soma juice?”

“He went to the isle of Avalon, where his body remains to this day. His mentor, Merlin, also never died. He was trapped under the earth in a cave by the lady Nimue.”

“Others say we will become divine.”

“Like the Greeks! Can I be the first to taste the ambrosia?”

“But they never drank from the Grail?”

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They rowed on.

“So why are we looking for the drink of the gods?”

The man did not respond. They rowed on. They were past the Pillars of Achilles, nearing the world beyond the sun.

Before long, the boy took the oars and began to row.

Then one morning, far out on the horizon, he saw Death blow a kiss at him. Behind him there was a party. At the nearest table sat the Hindus, but he did not see the Vedic writer. Opposite them sat the Greeks, but Hercules and Psyche were not at table with the Olympian gods. And there was no Round Table, and the boy did not see Sir Galahad, Sir Percival, and Sir Bors. Still, they rowed on.

But the scent of the river Lethe smelled like Death’s kiss. The boy stopped rowing, but the men did not lose sight of the horizon. The boy warned and prayed, but the men would not listen. At length, the boat reached the shore. Before them loomed a large mountain.

Death strolled up, and with an outreached hand offered them a cup. Each man took a sip in turns, but the boy looked at the men and asked, “Why are we looking for the Drink of the gods?”

The men did not respond.

When Death offered him the cup, the boy turned his back and rowed away.

Back came the boat that Odysseus rowed to Hell.

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O

ne Autumn morning, Jimmy, who was twelve years old, found himself greeting his new neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Krampun. They were kind, civilized people to the outside world, but they held a grave and dark secret. Now that secret was far from open to the world, and it was passed down from their family for centuries. They were the evil servants of the Krampus! The Krampus was a truly terrible demon who terrorized children on Christmas. Many people thought it was a myth, but he was indeed real. This one time though, he decided to strike on Halloween. Mr. and Mrs. Krampun were kidnapping children from their homes to deliver to Krampus!

J

immy greeted them with great enthusiasm saying, “Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Krampun! I am delighted that you have chosen to live in our safe neighborhood! I would be delighted to help you with anything in our neighborhood.” Mr. Krampus laughed, “Safe neighborhood ehhh…?” “O yes sir! It is one of the safest neighborhoods! This city might even be the safest in this state!” “It won’t be safe for long,” Mrs. Krampun whispered. “Excuse me?” Jimmy responded. “Nothing,” Mr. Krampun said quickly. “How about this Jimmy,” Mr. Krampun continued. “Why don’t you come to our Halloween party! Only children allowed though, we don’t want adults to mess up the fun!” “Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Krampun! I would be delighted to be at your party!” “Ok then, the party will be at our house at 4:30 P.M. Don’t miss it!” “Thank you! Have a good day Mr. and Mrs. Krampun,” Jimmy responded.

Jimmy had no idea what he was getting himself into.

T

he days passed by and soon it was Halloween night. Mr. and Mrs. Krampun stood in front of their house greeting the many other children coming to their party. They had a huge, evil grin on their faces, knowing that they would be rewarded greatly.

T

he house was huge! Jimmy didn’t know how this huge space fit into a tiny house. The children ran around playing.

Soon, it was time for dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Krampun served a sleepy burger which would make the kids so tired that they would not be aware of anything around them. After dinner, the adults made the children form a line to receive a so called “prize” which was really their death. They made one child come into their bedroom and threw them in a sack once they made sure the child was asleep. Jimmy was in the very back and had a strange and awful feeling when none of the kids in the room came out. He decided that everything was going to be ok, but his body disagreed with him.

Y

ou see, Jimmy was energetic because he didn’t eat the burger. His parents specifically said that he must only eat their food and nobody else’s even if they were their closest friend. Jimmy decided to go home since it was already past his bedtime. He didn’t want to anger his parents. Jimmy ran to the door. Just then, he heard a bang on the door and footsteps approaching him.

“ A

Where do you think you’re going, young man?” said a voice. Jimmy saw Mr. Krampun with huge, red eyes staring upon him. Soon, Jimmy found himself on a huge platform with the other children.

deep voice said, “Welcome children! Each day your punishment will grow until you are dead. Your first punishment is to be burned on the foot. The ground grew hot, and everyone was jumping up and down like popcorn. That was when Jimmy saw him. The Krampus was a demonic figure with big, great fangs and a long, sharp tail. Three out of the thirty-seven kids died. It was a horrifying sight. The first kid tumbled and burned his head, the second kid had his body completely burned, and the third fell off the platform. After the punishment, one of the Krampus’ guards led us to our beds. They were soft and cushiony, the ones you saw at five-star shops. That night of sleep was the worst, though.

The Krampus plagued the children with nightmares and left them to suffer.

T Peter Seiwert ’27 Koi

he next day was an even harder punishment. The children had to survive in a freezing room for five hours with only short sleeves and shorts. It was gruesome. Five out of the thirty-four kids turned into a block of ice. This night was worse. Jimmy dreamed that he was being haunted by the Krampus in the deep dark woods. Two out of the

51

Fishin’ Chuck Style

Charlie Kobdish ’25

Chuck picked the spot where the river narrowed.

Hoping to haul from the white caps rising A few fish salmon found appetizing.

Resting on the stump a beaver hollowed, Leaders hooked and bobbers sank all day long.

If he died here it’d no lessen his luck.

Every day reminds him that Chuck ‘s old school method of baiting can’t do wrong.

52

Song for a Highway Sidewalk Will Edwards ’25

To the reader: The majority of this poem was written with a used-up pencil I found on the ground.

Go then, write your letters Write me a story I’ve heard a thousand times before A thousand times or maybe more Then, standing atop your desk, shout out to the world Proclaim the glory of your work We know better Sing, sing me a song Please, sing on My contorted face, my desperate pleas for respite Are not indicative of anything You have such a pretty voice Please, sing on

53

Go then, write your letters Even if the dead will never read them Nor will they ever rise to respond Are you stupid?

The dead are gone forever Even a child knows this We, the ones you pass in the hallway We, the ones you’ve nearly forgotten Disciples of Ahab and Lennon We wish we could say that we are many, But indeed, there was only ever one Aim-sick, disciple-ridden And now for the refrain: Go then, write your letters Just don’t write them to me Believe when I say this: I won’t read them I won’t open them But write them all the same Owen Hanna ‘30 Abstract Study in Purple

54

ABBEY OF ST. WULFRIC

Robert Orchard ’30

Charles rushed through the Abbey of St. Wulfric

“Basically, long story short, I heard my uncle

upon. He stopped halfway down the hill to take a

replied, “ an underground passage.” After he

and down the large hill that the abbey was perched small set of reed pipes from his pocket. They had been a gift from the monks when they had first arrived at the abbey. Charles tried not to think

about that. He and his two friends, Benedict and Ambrose, had each come from different states and, after meeting right at the border of the

United States and Canada, packed with their

parents into a minivan and drove to the abbey.

The boys had been invited to stay for the summer

because they had a lot in common, not to mention that each had an uncle who was a monk at St.

Wulfric’s. Charles was filled with that dreaded

feeling again as he remembered... hearing about the car crash, deciding to stay with his only

relative, his uncle. Benedict and Ambrose had

made similar decisions. That was five years ago,

when Charles was seven. He had not left the abbey grounds since—except for hikes in the mountains that surrounded the abbey.

He forced this reminiscence down, picked up

the reed pipes, and played a series of notes. This alerted his friends that he had important news

and to meet at their most common rendezvous spot. He was approaching the old fir forest,

looking for the small maple sapling. It was a

mystery to them how it ever got there, almost

in the exact middle of a several square-mile fir

forest, completely obscured from view by many surrounding massive evergreens. He arrived

slightly out of breath to find Ambrose already

there, reading. Several minutes later Benedict

joking with Fr. Patrick about a passage,” Charles said this the boys talked for a minute or so, then they each took off in the same general

direction. Ambrose was looking in the gardens

and outside around the abbey property, Benedict was searching in the main entrance way, church, crypt, and sacristy, and Charles was searching

in the library and the living area for the monks as best he could without arousing too much

suspicion. Benedict found nothing amiss in the

main entrance. Next, he moved into the church to find nothing wrong either. The same went for the crypt. He let out a sigh and made his way to the sacristy.

Meanwhile Ambrose had not had better luck. He had already managed to get stung seven times

by a wasp as he was searching the abbey garden, looking for some indication of an entrance to a passage.

Four hours later all the boys, exhausted and,

in Ambrose’s case, stung by wasps and bitten

by ants, returned to their room before vespers.

Their room was tidy with a desk and a dresser on the left side and a set of triple bunk beds on the right. While the room was small in perimeter,

the ceiling was remarkably high. The desk had several large shelves and drawers with a flat

desktop. The drawers contained Tolkien’s The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings plus animal

and plant identification guides for the local flora

and fauna along with other miscellaneous. In the

arrived.

bottom most drawer, there was a copy of The

“So, what’s the news?” asked Ambrose.

shelves above the desk were many religious books,

New American Bible for each of them. Filling the

from apologetics to biographies of the Saints.

Charles let his mind wander again but then was

rather all belonged to the massive Catholic library

conversation. It was his uncle’s voice carrying

None of the books on these shelves were theirs but that was in the abbey. Every time either the

monks or the boys got a new book, they put it in

the library. On top of their desk was a typewriter, for they had to get permission and were rarely

allowed to use the library computer. Next to the

typewriter was a trophy from The North American Catholicism Quiz Bowl, a tournament usually

meant for four people but won by the three of them.

The next morning the three friends rose at the

sound of their alarm at five o’clock sharp and, after each making their beds, walked to this orderly desk. They each automatically reached for a

religious book from one of the shelves. Ambrose quickly grabbed a book that he had gotten from the library the day before and handed it to Benedict and said, “Quiz me please.”

Benedict obliged and soon he was asking Ambrose questions at a rapid rate. Charles let his mind

wander thinking about this so called ‘passage.’

Maybe he had understood it the wrong was or maybe-

“Who was the second pope?” Benedict’s words cut into his thoughts bringing him quickly back into reality.

“St. Linas,” Ambrose replied swiftly with a bored

quickly brought back to reality by yet another

down the hall. He started and crept down the hall.

“Should we talk in your room, Father Abbot?” the voice of Fr. Louis murmured.

“It would be better to meet in your cell,

if you know what I mean. We would not want

to arouse suspicion.” For this last part his uncle lowered his voice significantly.

It was unusual for the monks to be up this early

unless they had something important to do or— suddenly several things fell into place almost at once. Charles crept back into his room and in a stage whisper said,“I’ve got it!”

“The major accomplishments of Pope Gregory VI?” Benedict asked.

“That too but (here he paused to shut the door), I think I know where the passage is.”

That evening they were ready to make their move.

They each had their small set of reed pipes for sending messages.

Earlier that day, after lunch, Ambrose and

Benedict had come back more quickly than the

other monks to see if one of their many theories

was true. Their theory, which was that an air vent that was at the junction of the two halls of the

tone of voice.

living corridors connected to an air vent in the

“You asked me to quiz you,” Benedict replied only

have asked for a better set up.

slightly annoyed.

“Then maybe you should quiz me without the book.”

“Fine, but what kind of questions?”

“Let’s go extremely difficult questions over popes of the Middle Ages.”

55

abbot’s room, proved to be correct. They could not Fourteen of the seventeen monks were going

hiking north of the abbey. Each of the boys chose to stay and “study.” The plan was for Charles to

go into the abbot’s room, Benedict to stand at the

place where the two corridors met where he could communicate with Charles through the vent, and Ambrose to be at the start of the first corridor so he could signal with Benedict. Ambrose played

56

the notes telling Benedict everything was good.

people (here he glanced at Ambrose) would just

started to walk down the corridor.s When he

thing out of the wall. Both of these mistakes would

Charles, who had been standing with Benedict,

reached the door of the abbot’s room, he opened

the door and searched with great fervor, so much so that he did not hear Benedict’s signal that someone was coming.

Charles heard footsteps coming down the hall. He quickly ducked behind the door hoping that he

would not be discovered. The door swung open

slightly as he heard Fr. Patrick’s voice say, “Father Abbot?” Then Fr. Patrick must have realized

that his uncle, Fr. George, was on the hike. He

left. Charles’ heart beat uncontrollably fast as

he played the signal on his reed pipes notifying

Benedict that everything was all right. Then he

had another thought and he jogged down the hall to Benedict who, at seeing Charles emerge from

the abbot’s cell, had beckoned to Ambrose to join them.

“Okay guys,” Charles began, “I know that this

sounds crazy, but what if this secret passage is under my uncle’s bed?”

pull the key either off the metal ring or the whole be obvious with a mere glance.”

As the last screw came undone, the key fell with a clang and the three boys winced simultaneously.

They waited several minutes to see if anyone was coming; when no one did, they unlocked the trap door. There was a large drop and Charles nearly

fell into it. Ambrose, the tallest (though all three boys were about the same height) and the best

at climbing, without a second thought, jumped

into the hole just as Benedict was feeling around for another way to get down. His efforts were

rewarded when he found a metal ladder attached

to the side of the passage. He began to climb down, and Charles followed him. Charles took care to move the bed as well as he could over the trap

door. Hopefully, this would fool anyone who looked in — at least temporarily. When Charles and

Benedict came to the bottom of the passage which ran about fifteen feet below the main abbey, they found Ambrose, unhurt, fumbling for something

in his pockets. He, finding it, drew out a small bag.

The three boys made haste toward the room of

Ambrose pulled out a small flashlight, about the

the bed without a moment’s hesitation. The

a light so bright filled the passage that they could

tucked into it and the bed. The walls were bare

three feet in front of them was a gate of metal bars

a piece of metal that was screwed into the wall.

they tried shaking it and using the large key, their

the abbot and, after shutting the door, moved

size of a small glue stick. He switched it on, and

room consisted only of a small desk with a chair

see at least thirty feet into the passage. About

save for an ornamental key that was looped onto

several inches thick. It was locked, and though

It was said to be the key to the abbey gates but it

efforts were to no avail.

had never been tested since all the monks used

electronic key fobs to open the abbey gates. Under the bed was a trap door with a lock that was big as Charles’ fist. The boys looked at each other

and then Charles ran out of the room. In several minutes he was back, holding a screwdriver. He

was easily the best of the three boys when it came to tools. Charles talked to the others as he set to

work unscrewing the four screws that secured the

lock, “It is very clever that this is screwed in. Most

The three boys discussed this and then agreed to send Benedict back up. He searched for several

minutes then called to Ambrose in a faint voice to bring him the ornamental key. Ambrose obliged, making great haste. Benedict reached under the bed with the key then pulled out a drawer with a lock on it. The drawer contained seven keys!

Benedict, hearing footsteps, quickly shut the

drawer and ducked into the open trap door after

57

Ambrose, pulling the bed back over the door.

— I am armed!” His uncle produced a handgun. It

through the keys to find the best fit. Charles

bullets here, so don’t move a muscle. You were

The boys approached the first gate, rummaging found it and the boys again advanced. The walls were linear, and the ground was covered with rectangular sandstones. The boys continued

through the passage, encountering six additional

gates, until they came to an eighth gate. At a loss, the boys stopped; then Benedict rushed back to a small bulge in the wall and smote it with his fist.

It gave way and inside were three keys. The boys

paused after they unlocked the eighth gate while Ambrose showed his flashlight down the new

passage. It was only about fifteen feet long. Three gates. The next two gates they passed with ease; then they came up to the eleventh gate; it was

was shorter than the other gates. The other gates were nine feet tall in a ten-foot-tall passage. This gate was only about five feet leaving ample room between it and the roof. The lock was not that

of a padlock but rather a combination lock. The

boys, one by one, climbed over the short gate, then turned the corner.

“There is no literal way this is the real thing,”

Ambrose said. In front of them was what appeared to be The Ark of the Covenant!

Charles answered, “But then why would they go

to so much trouble to keep it hidden?” Suddenly, Benedict hushed them all; soon the other boys heard it too. A dull scraping that could only be

looked ancient but a gun all the same. “I have three about to steal what is rightfully ours.” Each of the monks put on a mask as Fr. Louis produced a can of knock out gas and sprayed it sinisterly.

Charles jerked awake. He was in his room; he checked the beds above and below him. Both

Benedict and Ambrose were still out. He slowly

got out of bed and walked into the hall. There were sounds coming from the dining room. He walked in and found the monks having dinner, all the

monks except Fr. Louis, Fr. George, and Fr. Patrick!

It took a while for Charles to make sense of all the praise; he caught only snatches of the story but finally heard the entire tale. After this he went

back to his room and found Benedict just waking

up and Ambrose still sleeping. Ambrose suddenly shot awake, and Charles told them everything

that had happened. The three monks, Fr. Louis, Fr. Patrick and Fr. George, had been hiding The

Ark of the Covenant. When several of the novices overheard pieces of their covert conversations,

they went to a senior monk and, after getting his approval, went into the passage. They arrived

just in time to stop the three senior monks from harming the boys. The monks were sent to jail; The Ark of the Covenant would be shipped to

Israel. And so, the boys set out for midday prayer.

someone moving the abbot’s bed.

“Quick,” Ambrose told Benedict “Find a key that

will lock a door as far away from here as you can.”

Editor’s note: This story is part of a larger mystery series that Robert is developing.

“Okay, but I might have dropped most of the keys,” came the reply.

Benedict locked the eighth door and so the boys

sat waiting on the other side. Soon, Fr. George, Fr. Patrick, and Fr. Louis came rushing in.

“Stop! Charles, Benedict, and Ambrose! I warn you

Cub Gerber ’25 Dungeon Doors

Across from the Fourth Hole

58

George Saliga ’25

“I dying,” quivered the voice of my grandfather as he limply held my dad’s hand. “I know… that’s why we’re here.” Instead of urging Grandpa to fight like he had for the past three months, my dad assured him that we were ready to let him go. I sat there, staring out the window at the fourth hole of the golf course, which was surrounded by a pond gilded with silver by the December sun. A lady with a hot-pink hat lined up her putt, oblivious to what was happening across the pond, over the picket fence, within the cozy-looking home. Today was just like any other day at Grandpa’s house; the only difference was that this time I was talking about my week to a dying man. He could barely speak; he just stared blankly at the ceiling listening to how my basketball games went and about the next day’s math test. Those were the last things I spoke to him about. I found that there can be a simplicity in death. As we recited a divine mercy chaplet by the side of his bed, I didn’t pray for a miraculous recovery; I simply asked God to let my grandfather be at peace. He fell unconscious at the conclusion of that prayer and never woke up again. Sometimes miracles are mundane.

59

Henry Folmnsbee ’25 Great Blue Heron

60

E-flat Major She didn’t know I thought about

her so much or that I jumped inside

every time she glanced over or called

out my name. How can I describe her?

She was like nothing anyone else has

ever been and can never be sorted into a measly category. Her face was like a

polished diamond—no, like a teardrop

of rosy quartz; opalescent, opaque, and narrowed to a point at her chin. Her hair had that property that the tips

pointed inward, long dark gossamer

threads that shook and swayed with

the movement of her slim frame. Her

mouth was always in a smile, thin yet

full, and she had lips like the strokes of a calligrapher—pronounced, yet never to stare at. Her nose was like a little note heard over the rest, or a little

point in the smooth canvas that was

her face. The true point of focus on her

lovely face was her eyes. Her eyes were like a pool of ink from a pen that bled out in pining.

They were like twin moons of

brown ink, with soft bovine eyelashes, curving singly up and noticed only

by those who saw her right, like the hidden melody in a nocturne or a

deeper meaning in a text. And yet, this was only her outside, her façade, her

Canon Blackwell ’28

alabaster coat; it was but the flat colors of the work, the opening note, the one

note in our key out of eight that starts the piece off. It was but the E-flat.

A pianist sits down at his beloved

and cruel mistress, the piano. His body was still a young one, but his soul was

wizened with age. He turns on his lamp and warms up his fingers. The piano,

mistress that she is, snaps at him, trips his fingers, and then settles down into

the passive instrument of his affections as he walks his fingers up to a single

note. He listens for a moment, waiting

to see if his mistress will interrupt him, then plays the chord along with this note. It is an E-flat chord.

When she walked in the door

that day, the girls had been whispering amongst themselves of a prophecy— a foretelling of the relationship that

would come for the two of us—and so

when she walked in, I blushed furiously, smiled, and did that thing that all

awkward boys do—avoid looking at her

too much. I greeted her graciously, with a smile that mirrored her beautiful

face and bright expression at seeing

me. We talked, and I began to take note of her personality. That personality,

paired with the opening notes, gives

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a harmony of thirds, a quavering one

She would laugh, and smile, and whip

is the eerie C minor or the airy E-flat

switch. She wouldn’t be too mean, too

—one that does not know if its destiny major. It was G, added to the E-flat.

The pianist continues, scratching

my poor soul with the wit of a sharp

tolerant, too boyish, nor too coy—she

would be the girl I knew to have a crush

out a poor sequence of chords, trying

on. This was not the end, either. I’m

idea in his long unused heart. He plays

little mockup of a description of her.

the bold B-flat dominant chord. He

the rosy quartz that made her skin, and

This resonates back to a stony G-sharp

Next comes the exposition, in which

takes him back to the start, at an airy

up a fifth, so when we return to my

and then stops to figure out a simple

one chord that describes my happiness

to capture the perfect image of some

just getting to the height of my poor

that E-flat chord, then lightly touches

This was but a scratching, a shaving of

slights, then returns to a C minor.

was only the end of the opening theme.

major, then the B-flat strikes again, and

her beautiful hymn of being is taken

E-flat. He plays his progression again

crotchety theme, I may resolve on the

melody.

in her—the kindest chord, the light,

She was not perfect, but she had

meek, springtime chord. A lovely E-flat

that charism of a girl who strives to be

major.

She was meek and docile, yet bold and

the keys, giving them time to think

gossiper, nor was she vulgar—but she

refined into a progression. He sighs,

knew it or not, to fit in with whatever

new set of chords. C minor leads with

a group of girls poked at the other boys,

and back to C minor. G-sharp major

and be able to turn it around to fit in

resolving back to our very own E-flat

boys. She mirrored those around her,

tune again, then strikes into a G minor

kind, to be glanced at and given a wave.

The pianist rests his hands on

strong at the same time. She was not a

after the melody that he has just

had that natural ability, whether she

counts the keys, and begins to play a

group she happened to be found with. If

a lustful tune, then F minor, G minor,

she could joke with a flexible nature

lulls into a teetering B-flat major,

with a ragamuffin group of awkward

major. The pianist plays his original

but to a temperate extent—I never once

progression. The exposition has begun.

saw her get in trouble, not once in all my years, albeit few, of knowing her.

Cub Gerber ’25 Miniature Organ

62

I have told you how she

appeared, how she acted, and how this

situation came to be. The next order of business is the great connection itself, the moment that I thought I was truly alongside her, that I could be close to

her. Little did I know what was to come.

The exposition, of course, leads to the moment where it all comes together and rushes on in an intricate and

intimate closeness. In this, this unsure

closeness, lies the hope that someday, it might all work out...

It was that same day when she

must have mistaken my generic gesture as an invitation, to decide what our

relationship was. In any case, she set

her delicate ivory hand in mine. I was

astounded, infatuated, confirmed, and head over heels in love all at once. I

had never had such a creature do this to me, save my sisters and mother. In that moment, I had taken the hand of

a beautiful hymn, a girl, and it stunned me. There she was, letting herself to

me. I held her hand for a moment, then

dropped it. I had seen her in two parts— beauty outside and in. And she sounded

had walked in the door, and I had

still like a chord—E-flat major.

as I could have. I had been sitting

exposition is complete. The pianist

things that girls talk about. Was this

opening theme again, and reinforces

greeted her politely and as kindly with a few girls, talking about all the odd, a boy like me among the girls?

Sitting there with the prophets whose visionary words were of relationship

verdicts, witty nicknames, and above all, who liked whom. I was being

myself, funny yet odd, and was laughing at the humorous names that the two prophets had produced... throwing sidelong glances at her (her whom

I loved). I was wittily responding to one of their unimportant and many jibes when I flipped out my hand in

mock condescension. This, I thought, was clear. It was the generic symbol one gives when he is sarcastically

remarking, right? Apparently not. She

The chords have resolved, the

wonders what to do next. He plays the his chord progressions with octaves

and harmonies, beginning the tedious,

lengthy, yet fruitful process of turning a tune into a song. E-flat, B-flat, C minor, G-sharp. He adds some rhythmic base movements, and some decorative

ornamentation. He refines his playing into true music. All in the chord of E-flat.

I had written her a letter, which

held both professions of love, poetic

descriptions, and contemplations of

relationship, much like this slapdash

writing. I told her I had something for her, left it atop her bag, then made

my quick retreat to let her do with it

entity of the distant past. All through

were with her I learned that my epistle

major.

what she would—from my friends who was so charged with emotion that she

had cried upon reading it. Imagine my

distress at this, in the car going home, and my frantic texting to her, asking

if she was all right and apologizing for

whatever I had done. Imagine my relief

when she said it was all right and there was no need to apologize. Imagine the suspense in the air when I unsurely asked if the feeling was mutual—

Imagine the elation when, two minutes

later, she delightedly replied with a yes.

She had said yes! Under the rose quartz and the beautiful pink-gold personality were feelings of love—feelings for me!

The unsociable, quirky, affable chunk of

granite that I was. I had done nothing to deserve her affection. I was a beloved of music. I was beloved of E-flat major.

I think back to when I held her

hand for the first time, and later when we confirmed each other’s affections.

Still, I do not know what is to come,

or what the future holds. For now, we simply wish good for each other and

work to make each other’s lives better.

I know I love her, and she loves me – we will survive together. I had seen the

near future, and the ancient past in the same moment. I had brushed my crude

awl into the pink marble of love. It was a thing of the far future, yet also a divine

63

her lens, one of full and elemental E-flat The pianist sat, contemplating

the end of his little tune. He plays an

E-flat chord with a low base, then turns it minor, then plays it again, touching

the keys to suit his hand. He hums the melody to himself; then he compares

what little music he has played to the orchestral masterwork that was the love in his youth. The pianist then

remembered the moments that he

had shared with her, the love that had blossomed between them, and the

future that had awaited him. He smiled, as her form perfectly fit the E-flat that he had just played. It was her, wasn’t it? Coming back to say hello, hello,

goodbye. A single falling star fell from his eye. He remembered her name. It played and danced on his tongue and

left a sweet taste in his mouth. He said it aloud, and then he said it again. He

chuckled and sighed and wept for her, and all the while played his song. A

“Fantasy in E-flat,” he christened it. “A

Song for Her,” he secretly sang to it. “A

Love Long Lost”, he choked on it. Then

the old-souled pianist got up and raised his hand to the desk lamp. He sighed

and whispered to no one in particular— “Goodnight.” Out went the light.

64

No Ordinary Town Calico, Washington, was no ordinary town. Nestled in an idyllic northwestern fjord, the mountains surrounding the town are said to be greener than the finest emeralds, and the mellow Pacific’s deep blue could be likened only to the planet Neptune. Though the sun seldom shared its full warmth with Calico, the cloudy gray sky still provided enough light in the day; in the night, the moon and stars proved a somber lantern for the various sojourners of the Olympic Range.

One such traveler was Noah DeMarco. A man of perhaps twenty years, he came from Bellevue to camp for the weekend, for he wanted to get out of the city one last time before the winter months made it impossible; snow tended to pile up in the various mountain passes and campsites he would frequent. Coming to a familiar clearing on the side of a taller mountain, he perceived the outline of a small town, maybe 1000 feet in the pinkish-peach sunset. Slightly confused, the amateur mountaineer examined a map of this particular part of the Washington coast. After scrupulously examining the map, which he always kept in his backpack, he wondered how he (and seemingly the cartographers of this particular map) had missed such an obvious town. He was certain he was on the right path, as he had taken it tens of times before, but this mystery town was entirely new to him. He could see the golden street lights flicker to life in the distance and resolved to investigate.

Riley Murphy ’25

As he descended the mountain, shrouded by the massive conifers, he felt drops of rain begin to fall. At first, they were light and sporadic, but as the thunderclaps sounded louder and louder, the meager sprinkles evolved into a windy maelstrom. Noah hurried down the mountain, guided by nothing but his hands in front of him and an occasional glimpse at the yellow lights emanating from the town. Behind him, he heard at least one tree fall; the various forest noises he had come to love, now seemed to him a sign of imminent doom and as such, onward toward the light he hurried.

At a certain point, however, it all stopped: the rain, the thunder, the loud noises behind him all stopped in unison.

Above Noah, majestic northern lights flanked by an army of stars gave him perfect vision toward his target, the illuminated mystery town. Noah was still in a state of adrenaline-fueled panic, but as he realized the change in weather, he quickly calmed down. At long last, he reached the town which had occupied his mind so fervently As he walked down what appeared to be main street, he sensed something uncanny about the otherwise jolly place. It looked and felt like a normal town, and a cozy one at that. Colorful buildings lined the road, with every storefront one would expect in a small country town. As he passed the general

65

store, one of the only places which still appeared to be open, it dawned on him.

There were no people in this mystery town. Consequently, Noah figured that, if nothing else, he could catch some nice rest inside the quaint store, so he hurried toward the door. Just as he had almost reached it, he ran into something invisible and heard the voice of an annoyed man shouting, “Hey! Watch where you’re going, kid.”

“He- Hello?” a startled Noah responded.“Can’t you see? I was walking down the sidewalk and you ran into me,” the man responded, annoyed.

“Uh, sorry sir,” Noah said, “I really didn’t mean to hit you. I just, uh, forgot to put my contacts in.”

The man grumbled, but seemed to continue on, at least as far as Noah could tell. He stood on the sidewalk for a second, contemplating what his best course of action was when out of nowhere a recognizable voice called out, “Noah! How did you get here?” Noah turned and saw his grandmother, albeit a version of her in her twenties or thirties, complete with attire from the time.

“Come here, darling!” she exclaimed, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” She grabbed him by the wrist and led him to what he guessed was her home. Much too stunned to speak and clueless of what else to do, he followed.

“I’m sure you’ve had a long day. You should get some rest,” she said calmly while pointing to an antique couch. Noah sat on the couch, for some reason unable to speak, and seeing this, she turned off the lights and left the room. Noah drifted off to sleep.

He woke up the next day, spoke to his grandmother briefly, then hurried out of the house and town, but not before reading the sign outside of city hall, which read: CITY OF CALICO, WA. Then, returning exactly as he had come, Noah journeyed across the Washington coast and returned home safely.

When he got home, immediately after calling his mother and father to tell them he made it home safely, he googled “Calico, WA,” a query which led him to a Wikipedia article describing an ordinary Washington town. As he reached the bottom of the article he came across one intriguing sentence: “Calico was destroyed completely in 1963 when a landslide from the mountain above pushed the town into the ocean.” Calico may have appeared an ordinary town, Noah thought, but in reality, what he had experienced was anything but ordinary.

Eddie Maurer ‘25 Wilderness

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Rain’s Song of Death Marc Maalouf ’25

March 17, 1894 “. . . and when the rain started falling,” said the native, who was now waving his arms, evidently agitated about something, “that’s when that horrifying creature came out, taking two of our men and most of our supplies.” The other men at the bar chuckled and shook their heads, blaming his agitation on the unfounded superstitions of the native Tarahumaras in the area. I was convinced our guide had simply seen a large wolf. I trudged off to bed, knowing our party had a long day of travel ahead.

April 7, 1894 We’ve been traveling for about 12 days without the reprieve of a tavern or trading post and our supplies are dwindling. However, the men are in high spirits as they appreciate the nature around us. The sun shines bright with the occasional cloud allowing for reprieve from the relentless rays, the hues of vibrant purple flowers stand out in the otherwise desolate terrain, and our caravan is constantly trailed by an entourage of bright blue birds which protect us like a flock of angels as we traverse Guadalupe Peak. Our Tarahumara guides have caused us no trouble so far, although we have seen some Apache war parties off in the distance—just never close enough to truly worry our exploration.

April 24, 1894 Our guides have become restless, but we cannot be sure why. We have drawn to the outskirts of a sacred place for the Tarahumara people, but I don’t see what’s so sacred about this plateau. The birds, our vigilant guards, have disappeared.

The ground has devolved into barren rock; far off we can see a reprieve from the relentless sun we’ve faced for the last few weeks as a storm cloud approaches.

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April 27, 1894 The storm has hit our camp like a battering ram. We were forced to set up our tents hastily last night, without the help of our Tarahumara guides who fled immediately as the downpour began. I pray that our God does not abandon us to the whims of the storm at hand. Outside I hear the snarl of a beast, and a flash of lightning reveals a horrible shadow outside, tearing apart a bag of supplies. I cower under my blankets as I write this, praying that morning will come.

April 28, 1894 With morning’s arrival return the birds, the guardians who abandoned us in our time of direst need. Having opened my tent, I must admit it took me a moment to recover from the shocking sight in front of me. Lying on the ground in front of me was the bloody, tattered remains of one of our Tarahumara guides who had faithfully stayed with us through the night. The other natives were discovered huddled together in the distance, muttering about some “kimera” or “chaimera,” although I am not well versed in their language, so perhaps I’m mishearing. We have decided to return to more civilized lands as soon as possible.

These testaments, supported by three other men on the mission and thus not disprovable, are in accord with the native traditions of the area, and should be heeded by all who dare enter the area.

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Cameron Allen ’30 A Place of Rest

69

THE MATCH Andrew Eaton ’31

People all around Were ready for the match.

Flags were flying high, Above the roofs of thatch.

Nathan’s horse of black Was known across the land.

Not for skill in war But for being banned.

Pierson brave and smart, fighting from the south.

Hawk upon his shield, Known by word-of-mouth.

The stands were full of people.

The duke then rang his bell.

Quiet in the crowd Waiting for the yell.

Matched against the sailor, Who styles his hair with care.

King of all the seas, Treasure, he hates to share.

“Let the match begin”, Heard across the stands.

Charging down the field Lances in their hands.

Jousting for a prize Marriage with a bride.

Pretty princess Rosaline Cheering from the side.

Pierson strikes his foe, Nathan hits the ground.

Trumpets sound aloud, The winner is crowned.

Pierson’s horse of white Was the greatest steed.

Trained by the best, He would fulfill the need.

Pierson will be the Prince, People of Galma rejoice.

Pretty princess Rosaline Approves of the choice.

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The Story of a Book

Rishabh Rengarajan ‘25

He flipped the last page of the book

repose. Picking up the book, the boy

that he was reading. Seconds later,

suddenly heard the wails of the child

it lay on the floor, its cover torn off

on the cover, the book’s protagonist,

and crumpled. Glancing at the image

ring out. In fright he gripped the

of a mournful boy on the ripped

pages tightly, choking them, and

paper, the young schoolboy hurriedly jumped up and shuffled away, leaving the rumpled pages of the book on the floor.

“Stupid book,” he muttered in disgust and anger, as he stomped to his room and slammed the door shut, leaving the lights off. It was dark and he felt miserable and upset by that book. He shouldn’t have read it, but he did, and now he regretted it.

Hours later, the boy decided entirely to destroy the book. As he opened his door and moved through the house back to the torn-up book, covered always by a great hanging darkness, he did not know why he

he walked over to a ferociously burning fireplace, the only source of light anywhere in the house. As the boy slowly tore out each page and fed it to the fire, the hearth jumped violently and tossed and roared, burning the life out of the paper. Still hearing the cries of the kid in the story, the boy hesitated for a moment, then threw the book completely into the fire and ran away. He smiled devilishly as he thought about the crying and the pain beneath it, and how his murder of the book seemed fair retribution for how it upset him.

A few minutes later, the book was

wanted so badly to get rid of the

all but gone, reduced to cinders.

little paperback. But perhaps its

Its spirit had vaporized, but the

destruction would bring him some

agonized cries of the child in the

book still faintly lingered in the air.

71 night snack. Still strangely attracted

The fire had somehow also gone out,

to the dead fire, he peered curiously

and the young boy was surprised at

into the hearth as he passed and saw

how cold he felt in the lonely house.

ashes of the book, strangely arranged

He heard the wooden roof creaking

in the shape of a little boy’s face.

and peered out an open window in

Some of the ashes lay in a steady line

his room. Everything had become

resembling a smile.

dark—the room, the house, outside, everything. He heard no noises other than remnants of the lingering cries.

Suddenly the boy remembered his parents:

Some minutes later, the boy lay in bed, vaguely wondering about his parents. He had tried to turn on the lights and realized they had stopped working. The blackness and

“Mom? Dad? Hello?” the boy

frigid cold pervaded everything, but

called out. The only response was

the boy did not feel angry or upset

the continuing wails—what was he

anymore, and he actually felt quite

to expect? He thought about how his

warm. As he dozed off to sleep, the

room used to belong to his brother,

crying of the young child in the

who had been the same age as the

book had melted away into a sweet

boy from the book, and how they

lullaby, and the boy felt content

probably looked the same. That

dreaming about its reassuring story.

reassured him. For no reason, he

He thought of joyous nights long ago,

absentmindedly whispered to the

sitting with his mother and father

darkness, “Don’t worry! They’ll be

and brother around the life-giving

back soon...”

hearth with a book he received as

Yawning, the boy did not bother to turn on any lights—he knew they worked, but he preferred to live in the soothing mantle of the cold darkness—as he quickly journeyed out to the kitchen and grabbed a late-

a present, on whose cover a happy child frolicked in the warm sun.

Gamble of a Lifetime Vaughn Irish ’25

Work had been a struggle today.

My job is far from ideal, but for now, it is a necessary evil. The one thing that motivated me to get out of bed this morning was the promise of Sin City, Las Vegas.

What wasn’t there to love about Vegas? The flashing lights from every direction, blaring music, the commotion of tourists; it’s a city that never sleeps. Above all, though, are the casinos that line the Las Vegas Strip. Inside these buildings, magic happens. People become millionaires overnight!

Just the thought of this occurring made me excited. What if I’m the next one to make it big? Then I could finally quit my job and live freely, not enslaved to any boss or the relentless grind of capitalism.

After work I plan on making a trip to one of these casinos. It will be nothing too crazy; maybe just a couple hundred dollars. It’s 4:30 p.m. and I could not help but be consumed by the anticipation.

I rushed out of the building and began the long walk back to my apartment. Despite the earlier sunshine, the temperature in

Vegas had dropped to a cool fiftysix degrees, and the once-calm sky seemed to churn in disapproval.

The formerly gentle breeze had now grown turbulent; its howls echoed into my ears. Clouds shrouded the once-friendly sun and blocked it from my view entirely.

At my apartment, I tossed my bag on the floor and then went to change my clothes. There is no need to hurry, since the neon lights of the city would ensure that lost daylight is no problem. I am just so excited to enter the casino.

I grabbed my phone and wallet and started my journey to the longawaited strip. While I was in the apartment, the conditions had worsened. What had once been a cool Vegas afternoon had turned into a tempestuous battleground of thunder, lightning, and rain. The wind’s furious howling attempted to hinder my progress. The dark clouds had completely blinded me from any natural light, enveloping the world in an oppressive shroud of darkness. The rain fell like bullets from the sky as if Nature

herself was trying to stop me.

I was in the final stretch of the walk when I finally saw the casino at the end of the road. Its lights were beckoning me to escape the weather outside. As I drew closer, I came across other people making their way into the casino. Groups of men and women rushed to get out of the storm’s fury while still laughing and joking with their friends. They seemed invisible to the war I felt like I fought against the frenzied winds.

Finally, I enter the casino around 8 p.m. The warm and dry building is a relief from the terrible conditions outside. Where should I go first? There are so many options. While inside I notice the weather worsening even more.

Hail pounds the roof and windows with relentless force. The staff attempts to block it out, but it is no use. They try closing the windows and doors, but the hail persists in attacking the building.

My excitement from earlier has faded. It seems like the weather is urging me to do something, though I cannot discern what this might be. I have an indescribable feeling;

one so strong it crushes my once unending excitement about going in the first place.I made the decision to leave around 9:30 at night. Pushing my way through the crowd, I begin my journey back to my apartment. In my eagerness, I had forgotten to bring a coat, a decision I regret heavily. As I approach my apartment, the storm reaches its climax, engulfing me and making it difficult to walk straight. The thunder mocks my foolishness as the icy rain drenches me, leaving me shivering.

Finally, I reach my room. I throw off my now soaked clothes and dry off. Exhausted from the walk, I fall asleep on the living room couch.

I wake up to the tender caress of sunlight on my face; it helps me forget the troubles of the previous night. I grab something to eat when I notice the Tv. What I see next is horrifying: the news channel is fixated on a crime scene. I recognized the place instantly; it’s the casino from last night. There was a shooting in the same casino.

Dylan Salcido ’25 Poker Night

Paranoia Dylan Salcido ’25

There’s a person I see, And I see him daily, That tall slender man made and dressed in shadow, Yes he appears to me.

Ever present in my mind, All I can think and see is him, I desperately want to go blind, His complexion is just too grim.

I hear his voice too, A ghastly whisper that only says my name.

I swear someone’s pranking me, But I don’t know who’s to blame.

Now alone with unwanted company, Wanted company is lonely, Because I always turn to see if he’s there, I never find him, but I know he’s smiling.

Do you know what it’s like, To live in a prison of your own mind?

To know that nothing is there, Yet with all sincerity swear, That a shadow man watched you sleep.

Stayed until the alarm clock beeped.

But you were too tired to care, That a ghoulish man was there.

He tries to get in my house, So I make sure the doors are locked.

I know it won’t stop him, It happens so much I’m not even shocked.

I know he’s real.

His spectral form is so palpable, His voice is so distinguishable, Once I even saw him clean my pool.

I talk to friends about him, They say he’s not real, But I see and hear him clear as day.

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The Championship Pierson Kedora ’31 It was finally the day when my basketball team would play in the championship game. The results could either be to win the championship or to go home without the beautiful golden trophy. This trophy was special to us and the other team because it would help you remember the wonderful victory of a championship game.

I woke up to find my bedroom light on and my mother standing there saying, “Wake up, Pierson, it’s time to eat a good breakfast so you are ready for the big game.”

I went to my closet, got dressed, and joyfully ran down the stairs to eat breakfast with my family. My mom always made the most delicious food. She normally makes me a ham and bacon omelette, some juicy turkey bacon, and a lot of fruit. I quickly devoured all my food and sprinted to the garage to get my bag. After I got my bag, I went to get my basketball and packed a water bottle. I put the basketball in my bag and put the bag in the trunk of my car. I packed a water bottle. Now, it was time to go!

My dad backed out of the garage and started driving towards Coppell Middle School East. My sister and I were arguing over what song to play in the car. I told my sister we should play Taylor Swift, but she said that Lainey Wilson was a good way to start off the day. We ended up having to let my baby sister choose the song. Of course she said, “Let’s play baby shark — it’s my favorite song.” Now my sister and I were trying to cover our ears, but it was hard to not hear it because my four-year-old sister was screaming, “Baby shark... do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do” repeatedly. When we arrived, we all felt relieved, even our parents!

I went into gym two and put my bag down on our bench. All my teammates came over to the bench to greet me. After greeting my friends, I got my basketball out of my bag and started practicing lay-ups. After about ten minutes, I practiced my three pointers. I was not particularly good at threes, but I still made a couple of them. After another five minutes, our team went to greet the other team and to say the pledge.

The first half went smoothly. I scored six points. The score was now 12 to 9 and we were leading. This was a great start to our game! We were constantly passing the ball and making good shots. I received the ball and passed it to my friend. He shot a long three. I was subbed out for the rest

77

of the third quarter. On the sideline, my friends and I were playing Rock, Paper, Scissors.

In the fourth quarter I was subbed back in. The score was now 21 to 17.

We were still in the lead. Then, suddenly, the other team scored nine points against us. This was bad because the score was now 24 to 26 and the other team was ahead of us. I started to hype our bench team up. Then we all started screaming, “We will win! We will win!”

Our coach called a timeout, and we discussed the game plan. We were to pass the ball around and waste time. When the clock had seven to eight seconds left on it, we would shoot the three. We got onto the court and received the ball; it was then sent down the court to one of our players. He held the ball till ten seconds were left on the clock. Can we win?

It felt like a brief moment that I was lost in space. It was like my mind had stopped and I had no feelings inside of me. Our whole team depended on this moment. My friend shot. Oh, no! He missed it! Then, thankfully, my teammate jumped up and got the rebound. He faked the shot and then passed it to me. I stepped back, faded away from the hoop, took the shot, closed my eyes, and hoped for the best. I heard a sudden roar from the crowd. Yes, I had made it! The whole team came to celebrate with me. I was being dog-piled with my whole team on me. I could not breathe. I told my teammates to get off me. After I stood up, I was patted on the back from every side of my body. After this long moment of happiness and relief, we shook hands with the other team. After this, our team said a quick prayer.

When we finished the prayer, everyone congratulated me for my amazing shot, and they dumped Gatorade all on my head. I was very sticky.

My family drove home. Once we got into the house my mom prepared a nice juicy steak for dinner. New York Strip specifically. I showed them my trophy and then went to go put it in my bedroom. I ran up the stairs, after tripping several times. I ran into my room and found the best place to put my beautiful championship trophy. I put it right in front of the light so everyone could see it shine.

Finally, I went to bed, falling asleep, looking at my trophy just before I closed my eyes. What an amazing game!

Benicio Flores ’29 Basketball

78

My Holiday in Roma Henry Junker ’31

My holiday in Roma was an incredible experience. I went with my brothers, parents, and Nana. We stayed in an old Roman palace, visited two churches every day, got addicted to gelato, almost got to see Tom Cruise, and walked. A LOT. It was extremely exciting, and now, the Roman Chief of Police has my Dad’s phone number!

(I’ll get back to that later.) But first let’s take it back to October 2022.

The whole trip started with us going to an alumni weekend thing at the University of Dallas. My parents got so flooded with memories about the Rome trip they had while they were there, that in about a month, (without any planning), Dad bought plane tickets to Rome for summer of 2023. He does stuff like that a lot.

Sometimes — no, all the time — it’s fun, but it’s also shocking. How would you feel if one minute your dad was at the house, the next he was rushing off to buy a huge TV? You would not believe how many speakers we go through! We were all super excited, especially when we heard that Nana was going to join us, but little did we know how terrifying the trip was going to be.

AAAEEEIIIIIHHHEEEE-HHHOOOIIIOOOIIIAAAIIIEEE!!! screamed the young banshee in the night. Okay, to be fair we were going through some really bad turbulence, but still, that baby was loud!

The trip didn’t start out horribly; we got to ride a huge plane to Montreal, a city in Canada. Sure, it was six hours long, but we got to play digital poker on the tablets on the back of the chair. It was the flight from Montreal to Rome that was horrible. Overnight flights are bad enough without you regretting the three pieces of toast you ate for breakfast (I was hungry, okay?). To usual Junker fashion, the youngest two, Iggy and Paddy, were sound asleep, leaving only Peter and me to cringe at the fact that Nana was on the verge of tears and praying the Rosary. And of course, the baby. Why couldn’t he have fallen asleep like Paddy? But this Demon whose name I don’t know refused to be calm. In fact, he made Bob Dylan’s Christmas Album sound like it was recorded in Heaven, then edited by Angels! BADUMP! Wait, that one was louder than usual. CHRRRCK. “Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that our flight may be-” BADUMP! Okay,

I was scared. Heck, the guy was just cut off! A moment later he was able to continue, but I wasn’t listening. All of a sudden, the plane started shaking like crazy. Peter was sweating like a fountain and whimpering softly, Nana was hyperventilating, Mom and Dad were looking very worried, I was just about to join Nana in prayer, and the Banshee was still sobbing. After 45 minutes it was over —and the baby was asleep. Peter was only able to say one sentence before he joined him in peace: “That was FUN!” Boy, were we exhausted! We agreed that before we could go anywhere, we would get some rest. But sleep is a fickle… enemy, I guess? (Maybe you can’t make sayings up until you’re famous, because that was horrible!)

When we got to ‘Hotel Costaguti,’ we just needed the key. It was so simple. We just needed the key. It was so simple. WE JUST NEEDED THE KEY! IT WAS SO SIMPLE! But no. Of course, the owner was sick. Of course, the owner’s son didn’t speak English.

Of course, they needed to send… the demon backup (make the demon count two). I don’t even remember his name, and I do NOT want to. The first thing he did was show us a picture of his deceased mother. Then, it took him two and a half HOURS to give us the key. And there were some… interesting conversations.

79 “And this trash bin reminds me of the ancient Greek wars, and I know how much you Americans like to throw stuff away,” said the demon.

“This is very interesting,” said my dad, “and I love the tour of the uh… stanza, but- “ “NO! That is not how you say it! Say stanza!”

“This is great, but- ” “REPEAT!” And so, it went on for two hours.

Casual.

After we got some rest, (and our keys), we got our first real look at Rome. It was incredible. I never thought something could look so old yet feel so alive. Because the day was more than half spent, we decided to wander around within a half mile of our castle. And that’s when it happened. (The only moment in my life that could hold a candle to this was when I first tried coffee.) It was when I had my first gelato. Some of the best things in life happen while in a street café, and this was no exception. It was ice cream, but so much softer and creamier, and going to Rome would be worth it just for this. However, for every sunshine, a… piece of… water vapor? That

80 happy moment ended rather quickly; the entire family was exhausted, and what do you do when you, and everyone around you, is tired?

Get emotional. So here we are, a beautiful, peaceful family, sitting on the curb, and crying. We needed a good cry.

Rome is a bit of a blur. I mean, I remember it all, but it’s mushed together. Funny how that can happen.

You can be having the time of your life one moment and barely remember it afterwards. However, some moments stick out like a chicken in a room full of penguins (I’ll keep working on these guys). Like when we went to the Vatican Museum.

We got to see the Sistine Chapel as part of the tour, and it was crazy to think that Michelangelo painted it by himself. Another was when we first rode on the subway. It started out normally, but after I noticed something on the floor. A wallet? I thought people cared about money!

When I showed Dad, he started asking security guards about what to do with the wallet, who helpfully replied; “I don’t understand.” In the end, we went to the police station to return it, and, for some reason, Dad had to give his phone number to the police. The entire day he was acting jittery and checking his phone. Poor

dad. And there’s always something on a trip that seems so natural.

Most Americans drink coffee; we wouldn’t settle for anything less than a cappuccino. It was impossible to survive without them. And remember what I said about getting addicted to gelato? We would have it two times a day, sometimes before 10 a.m. One could say it was justifiable because we were walking at least two miles every day (probably because of the cappuccinos).

For the last two days of the trip, we stayed in a fancy apartment building, right next to the Spanish Steps. The exciting part was that the cast of Mission: Impossible 7 was staying in the hotel right next to us!

I mean, we were fantasizing about seeing them walk the red carpet and signing autographs. Peter was personally excited to meet Benji.

The disappointing part was that the primer/Red Carpet appearance would happen the day after we left (I can hear the pessimists laughing.)

But of course, all trips come to an end. We left on our tenth day, with unhappy hearts. As we were on our flight back to Montreal, we heard that our flight to Dallas was canceled. My dad quickly got us a flight to Orlando, and we slept peacefully. The next

81 day was crazy. We could not get on our flight because our tickets weren’t verified? (I’ve never understood it myself.) However, Nana just had to tell a little sob story, and she got through?

Once we finally got real tickets, we could get follow…with eight minutes until boarding. Then began the wild run. We all were taking different paths and hitting things, Peter even fell head first into a metal pole! Then, once we got on, our flight was delayed

TWO HOURS! Were we glad to be back in Dallas!

My trip to Rome was a fruitful experience. I now know the value of an international trip, and I hope you will have the chance to see Rome yourself! But if not, you can always visit Eataly at NorthPark (same value)!

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Sir Paddy (The Two-Year Old) Henry Junker ’31 Sir Paddy was a well-known knight.

He never lost a duel.

He loved his dear pet panda, who Would go on adventures too.

He entered a shabby, old hut on this journey, And found a metal chest.

He pulled out a rocket-ship onesie, And set off, ignoring the rest.

One day they encountered an evil lady, Who was clothed in a dress so verde.

She put Panda in a magical trance, And threw poor Paddy away.

He was blessed when he found this fuzzy onesie, For the nights were cold and harsh.

He would lay, delaying the horrible walk, But, eventually, restart his march.

So bravely, Sir Paddy would trek the land In hopes of finding his pet.

Through mountain, forest, hill, and plain, In lands that were dry and wet.

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He came upon a baleful castle, With a door of ancient oak.

Above it hung a sign that deemed This place to be “Bedrock.”

He opened the evil, foreboding door, In hope of finding his pet.

He did not expect to find a bed, Ready for him to rest.

Panda was lying on the bed, While the woman watched the infant.

She laughed as Paddy approached the berth, And kicked him into the linen.

She aroused a small machine of sound, Which made rainy melody.

She quickly extinguished the only lamp, Which gave the room obscurity.

Paddy fought the trap of repose, Which he was ensnared in.

But exhaustion overpowered babe, And he lay while resting.

Sir Paddy was a well-loved knight.

He fought for all well-being.

He loved all people equally, But now he’s reposing.

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The Impossibilis Labyrinthus Justin Lee ’30

It was October 23, 1999, and rain pelted against the window. Timmy Trickle was age eight and a half years old. Timmy Trickle couldn’t wait to receive much candy from his parents and neighbors on Halloween. That night was a strange one. The moon was bright red, and the rain turned to hail. Timmy was scared, but he forced himself to sleep. Much later, Timmy opened his eyes and saw himself in front of a maze. A sign right next to the maze read ‘The Impossibilis Labrinthus’. Timmy was confused when suddenly a scroll popped out of the sky. It read: Welcome contestant! You are in ‘The Impossibilis Labrinthus’. You must find your way through the maze before dawn, or you will not return to your home. Instructions: 1. Find the shadow merchant where you must negotiate a trade with him to receive the shadow hunter.

2. You will face your first obstacle.

3. If you are alive, use the shadow hunter against my friend, the Annihilare, who will do anything to stop you. Riddle: A firearm cannot do your damage, for you must manage your inner gifts.

4. You will then face Mimus who will send invisible obstacles to you. Riddle: Two more gifts you must, to bust this large wall of dust.

5. Finally, you will face me, Count Draccus once a vampire and now here to rule this maze.

Good luck contestant.

Timmy didn’t know what the riddles meant but he knew he had to do this. Then, he set off to the shadow merchant. The merchant was completely wrapped in shadows. You could see no distinction of his face or any part of his body. He said in a deep voice, “What do you seek, tiny child?” Timmy responded, “I am looking for the shadow hunter.”

The merchant burst into laughter. “That will cost you a lot! Half the people who try to negotiate with me die because they can’t give me what I want. Timmy choked back a sob. The merchant said, “I will give you an easier task if you wish. I want your soul.” Timmy gasped and said “How?” The merchant responded, “I will take your soul by……. KILLING YOU!” When the merchant hit him, Timmy crashed into a wall. He got up and suddenly snatched the weapon

from the merchant. The merchant cried, “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING WITH THAT!” Timmy ran as fast as he could and found a portal. He knew if he stayed, he would be dead. Soon, he found himself in an obstacle course.

Timmy looked at the course. It was like a video game. He saw another portal at the end — he knew he could do this. He leaped and made it! Timmy easily got to the end of the course. He smiled knowing he was only closer to going home.

Annihilare looked impossible to defeat.

He was a regular sized human but with a pumpkin head and a skeleton body. He carried a spear and looked at Timmy with a crooked grin on his face. Timmy was terrified. He didn’t know how to use the shadow hunter. Annihilare said, “Welcome contestant! Only two out of thirty people have gotten past me. I will ensure you a quick and easy death, child.” Timmy yelled, “NEVER!” Annihilare frowned and charged him. Timmy dodged the first attack and shot a Nerf bullet from the shadow hunter into Annihilare’s chest. Annihilare laughed at Timmy. Timmy suddenly knew what the riddle meant! He didn’t have to use weapons to defeat Annihilare, he needed to use wisdom and patience. He sensed Annihilare charging to him and dodged him. Annihilare was confused. Then Timmy stood at the edge of the platform and closed his eyes. Annihilare sprinted to Timmy and right when Annihilare was going to hit Timmy, Timmy took a step to his right side. Annihilare had fallen into the endless darkness. Timmy had so many questions but knew he had no time to waste. He jumped into the next portal.

Mimus greeted Timmy saying, “Ahhh, welcome contestant! I am Mimus and I will be killing you today. Only one person has defeated me. It was your great grandfather.

You will find your great grandfather later.”

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Timmy was confused. He had met his great grandfather when he was two years old.

Then, Mimus attacked with an invisible knife which stabbed Timmy in the leg.

“AHHHHHHHHH,” Timmy screamed. “I will let you bleed peacefully.” Timmy knew what the second riddle meant! He had to use knowledge and courage to defeat Mimus and get past his invisible wall! He ripped a piece of cloth and put it on his leg. Then, he used Mimus’ own tricks against Mimus. Timmy made an invisible vacuum and pressed the button. The vacuum sucked Mimus and he yelled, “Impossible…” Mimus banged the invisible glass of the vacuum angrily. Then, Timmy created an invisible knife and cut through the invisible wall. Timmy jumped into the next portal.

Count Draccus looked like his great grandfather for some reason. That’s when Timmy found out what Mimus was talking about. “Welcome great grandson. I knew I would face you when I saw your potential.”

“What are you talking about?” “I knew you had the power to beat my friends, but I know you cannot defeat me. Join me and we can rule together.” “NEVER,” Timmy yelled. “Fine, you will die a painful death.

I WILL TAKE YOUR BLOOD AND FEAST ON IT!” Timmy’s heart was beating like a race car. Count Draccus snapped his fingers and Timmy felt his bones crack. All his bones were broken. Timmy found a way to defeat him. He had to use temperance and the love from his heart. He couldn’t kill his ancestor. He gave warming messages to his great grandfather, and he tricked him into mending all of Timmy’s bones. Timmy punched Count Draccus in the face and jumped into the last portal. He was back in his bed.

That morning, Timmy looked at the moon.

He saw his great grandfather with a big frown on his face. Timmy smiled knowing he had done it.

Joe Schultz ’26 Stairs

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A Boy Named Determination Joseph Babich ’30 The tennis ball flew over the net, travelling at a speed only imaginable. Henry smashed the ball back over the net. His face dripped with sweat as his adversary smiled and sliced the ball into the corner. The referee called the points, Henry had 40 and his opponent had 30.

Henry was down four games and, if his opponent won the game, he would be one game away from winning the match.

Henry served, but the green ball flew miserably into the net.

One more try, Henry thought, as he hit the ball over the net.

His opponent sliced it back over, the sound of contact rung in the air. Henry almost missed, but the green ball floated slovenly over the net. His opponent stumbled and smashed it into the net. The referee called the game one to four. Even though Henry was down three games, he spun his racket and stared his adversary in the face as they headed to the bench to take a break.

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After the much-needed break, Henry got up to serve and aced the ball. The green ball spun and collided with the corner of the court, and a shocked expression appeared on his opponent’s face. Henry continued to consistently hit the ball with spin and speed and slice, resulting in winning not three but four games, bringing the score to five to four. Henry, with all his courage, readied himself for the onslaught of attacks expected from his competitor. The attacks came with even more energy than expected. It was hard for Henry to keep up, but he was determined to prevail.

Finally, the game was tied at 40: all, the next point deciding the game. Henry took a deep breath and served the ball. It barely made it over the net and his opponent cracked under pressure, slamming it out of bounds. Henry went on to win the tournament, learning that if he trusted in himself, he could do great things.

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The Krampus

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responded. “Nothing,” Mr. ne Autumn morning, Jimmy, who was twelve Krampun said quickly. years old, found himself “How about this Jimmy,” greeting his new neighbors, Mr. Krampun continued.

Mr. and Mrs. Krampun.

“Why don’t you come to They were kind, civilized our Halloween party! people to the outside world, Only children allowed but they held a grave and though, we don’t want dark secret. Now that adults to mess up the secret was far from open fun!” “Of course, Mr. and to the world, and it was Mrs. Krampun! I would passed down from their be delighted to be at your family for centuries. They party!” “Ok then, the party were the evil servants of will be at our house at 4:30 the Krampus! The Krampus P.M. Don’t miss it!” “Thank was a truly terrible demon you! Have a good day Mr. who terrorized children on and Mrs. Krampun,” Jimmy Christmas. Many people responded. thought it was a myth, but he was indeed real. This one time though, he decided to strike on Halloween. Mr. and Mrs. Krampun were kidnapping children from their homes to deliver to he days passed by and Krampus! soon it was Halloween night.

Mr. and Mrs. immy greeted them with great enthusiasm Krampun stood in front of their house greeting saying, “Good morning the many other children Mr. and Mrs. Krampun! coming to their party. They I am delighted that you had a huge, evil grin on have chosen to live in their faces, knowing that our safe neighborhood! they would be rewarded I would be delighted to greatly. help you with anything in our neighborhood.” Mr. he house was huge!

Krampus laughed, “Safe Jimmy didn’t know neighborhood ehhh…?” how this huge space fit into “O yes sir! It is one of the a tiny house. The children safest neighborhoods! ran around playing. Soon, This city might even be it was time for dinner. Mr. the safest in this state!” and Mrs. Krampun served a “It won’t be safe for long,” Mrs. Krampun whispered. sleepy burger which would make the kids so tired “Excuse me?” Jimmy

Justin Lee ’30

that they would not be everything was going to be aware of anything around ok, but his body disagreed them. After dinner, the with him. adults made the children form a line to receive a so ou see, Jimmy was energetic because he called “prize” which was didn’t eat the burger. His really their death. They parents specifically said made one child come into that he must only eat their their bedroom and threw food and nobody else’s even them in a sack once they if they were their closest made sure the child was friend.

Jimmy decided to go asleep. Jimmy was in the very back and had a strange home since it was already past his bedtime. He didn’t and awful feeling when none of the kids in the room want to anger his parents.

Jimmy ran to the door. came out. He decided that

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Jimmy had no idea what he was getting himself into.

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T

T

Gabriel Berbarie ’26 Krampus

Just then, he heard a bang on the door and footsteps approaching him.

“

This is the portal in which you may get back to the human world. Have you ever wondered that every Christmas there is a missing report on about one hundred children?”

“No,” Jimmy responded. “I guess, most children don’t pay attention to the news.

Ok so, we need to access the code for the portal. All the guards have one, but it is almost impossible deep voice said, “Welcome children! to steal one. Maybe we Each day your punishment can pickpocket one of will grow until you are them while a challenge is dead. Your first punishment ongoing.” “Are you going to ou had a sheet of is to be burned on the foot. help the other children?” algebraic problems The ground grew hot, and and each child had to get at “I’ll try to, but I need to everyone was jumping up least two problems correct at least get one out to the and down like popcorn. world to warn others about or they would explode.

That was when Jimmy saw This was horrific to the the Krampus. For years, him. The Krampus was a parties have looked for young children. Jimmy demonic figure with big, made it easily since he had the Krampus. One group great fangs and a long, succeeded and got visually learned this in his math sharp tail. Three out of proof, but that barely made class. Only ten out of the the thirty-seven kids died. twenty-seven kids left it to the world. Only one of It was a horrifying sight. the members successfully made it. That night was The first kid tumbled the best, though. Instead of found the Krampus and and burned his head, the having nightmares, Jimmy returned alive. Nobody believed him, though. Now, second kid had his body dreamed that he was in completely burned, and the Candyland. Then, he heard I have a full video of the Krampus in this USB. If you third fell off the platform. a whisper. get this to the world, no After the punishment, one more children will suffer. of the Krampus’ guards he kid whispering to Why can’t you go yourself? led us to our beds. They him looked old, even “It is because it has been were soft and cushiony, the though he was a child. He ones you saw at five-star said, “Hi, I am here to help thirty years since I was in the real world. Nobody shops. That night of sleep you get out of this place. I was the worst, though. know this place is terrible, will believe one word I say.

The Krampus plagued the but I can get you back to the Believe me, I have tried hundreds of times to get children with nightmares human world. I was once out of here.” “Ok then, let’s and left them to suffer. a child being tortured but go finish this battle,” Jimmy I escaped. I was concealed he next day was for thirty years. The guards responded. an even harder gave up trying to look for punishment. The children he plan worked. me. Follow me.” Jimmy had to survive in a freezing followed this mysterious After the children child. successfully pickpocketed room for five hours with only short sleeves and shorts. It was gruesome.

Five out of the thirty-four kids turned into a block of ice. This night was worse.

Where do you think Jimmy dreamed that he you’re going, young was being haunted by the man?” said a voice. Jimmy Krampus in the deep dark saw Mr. Krampun with huge, red eyes staring upon woods. Two out of the twenty-nine kids died that him. Soon, Jimmy found himself on a huge platform night, they died from their nightmares. with the other children.

“

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The third day’s challenge was hard.

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a guard, they opened the portal. Soon though, the Krampus found them and said, “You try to run from me?” The old kid responded, “Yes, I will get this boy to the outside world before you kill him.

I will stop you! I have been waiting thirty years in here.” “Fine then, you both will suffer.” The old kid said, “Kid, don’t wait for me. When the portal opens, jump in and I will seal it. Do you understand?” Jimmy nodded sadly. The Krampus ran into the old kid with his pitchfork. He flinched in pain. The Krampus made his way to Jimmy and clutched him in the neck. “NOOOOO!” the old kid said. He smacked the Krampus in the head and held him down tight. The next few moments were like an illusion. The portal opened. Jimmy jumped in looking at the joyful face of the old kid. “Just remember me when you get famous ehhh…?” “Oh, you bet I will!” Then, Jimmy found himself back in front of his house on the same night as the one he got kidnapped.

One Year Later…

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he Krampus was captured and placed in a huge citadel in Europe.

Jimmy was a hero. Then, he remembered the old kid. He looked up into the bright, blue sky and smiled at the face of his old friend.

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Forbidden Waters

Coleman Griffith ’25

A drop of sweat slid down the side of my face. The heat seemed to slow time almost to a stop as my friends and I hiked for miles along a winding dirt road. We were deep inside the thick Pine Forest at camp Greenfield just outside of Austin. As we walked between the towering walls of ancient pine trees that towered over us, we listened as the wind whispered through their branches. I noticed on the right stood a crumbling stone wall with the name “Shadow’s Cove” plastered on it in faded black letters. It stood in front of an unkempt and overgrown path packed tight with a thorny bush that warned all travelers to stay away. I looked over to my counselor and asked where the path led. He kept his gaze forward and murmured the words “forbidden waters.” Expecting an explanation, we paused, but nothing. So, we asked him “Forbidden, why?” He let out a long, exaggerated breath and then proceeded to tell the story of Chase, the lost camper.

It all started a long time ago in the first few years after the camp’s founding.

The owners wanted to give campers a break from the heat, so they opened up a swim bay at Shadow’s Cove. It was a

blast, every age group loved it. There were slides and rope swings and boats and water skis. But Chase, who was an older camper, and his gang were known all throughout the camp. They had a reputation: Wherever they went, trouble followed close behind. They were idolized by all the kids and hated by all the staff. Rebellion seemed to course through their veins. They were the criminals known for their daring yet stealthy nighttime excursions.

It was Chase’s last year at camp and also the first year of the new swim bay that welcomed all travelers into its refreshing waters. Late on a still summer night, while the rest of the camp was asleep, he and his friends wandered the camp as they did every other night. Both bored out of their minds and motivated by a teenage compulsion to defy the rules and seek the unknown, they decided to take a forbidden swim in the new cove. He and his friends got in to enjoy the warm, still water that normally was white with waves and movement from boats and other campers’ splashes. As one of the first to ever see the new swim bay at night, Chase was reasonably confused and intrigued when he spotted

91 a dim light far down at the bed of the river. It was dim but could clearly be seen through the dark green hues of the still and murky water. One small light sitting at the bottom of the bay, glowing softly like the ember of a dying campfire against the dark green hues of the murky water surrounding it. Chase called his friends over and asked, “How could a flashlight have even gotten out here?” Its glow was both mesmerizing and mysterious and sent a chill down their backs. The warm water which they had gotten into at the beginning of the night seemed to turn ice cold.

Nonetheless they burst into argument, questioning whether it was really a flashlight. They argued whether it was a reflection of someone’s watch or a piece of jewelry. Chase treaded water as his friends continued to debate what the source of this mysterious light was. Tired of their bickering, he took a deep breath and dove as far as he could under the water. Taken aback by his sudden departure toward this eerie and mysterious light, his friends watched as his feet slowly disappeared in the muddy water. The moon faded behind the clouds and the night grew darker but still they kept arguing until one of them nervously said, “Should we go down to get him? It’s been a while.” Before anyone could answer,

their heads whipped toward the front of the swim bay. The static crackle of the camp director’s walkie-talkie pierced the night. They sat silent, frozen, hoping they had misheard the sound of the director’s walkie-talkie, but then a blinding light washed over them, and they heard the voice of the camp director yelling at them. “Stay where you are!” Instinct kicked in and they all hopped out of the water and scattered in a frenzy in hopes of outrunning the director. It was chaos, a whole cabin running at full speed in all different directions. As they sprinted back to their cabins, the sun started to rise, filling the sky with an almost blood orange hue, bringing to a close the campers’ night of dreadful adventures.

It was only then, after all the chaos had subsided, that they realized they had forgotten about Chase. He never did emerge from the dark green murky waters of Shadow’s Cove. And legend has it if you’re sneaking around camp at night, you can see his ghost wandering through the towering pine forest that seem to whisper amongst themselves. It is his chilling fate to search through the night with a flashlight for his friends who left him behind so many years ago. So, if you ever see a dim light off in the distance at Camp Greenfield, run!

Chances are he just might bring you back with him to Shadow’s Cove.

Levi Hebert ’30 Abstract Study in Blue

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The Phantom of the Upper Field

Dhruva Kumar ’25

One day, a decent time ago, there was a group of students in PE on the Cistercian upper field. It was a beautiful spring day: The weather was warm, the leaves were rustling, and a slight breeze was flowing over the field. All was well as the students’ class ended, until one particularly inept kid kicked the ball a little too far. As the ball sailed through the air, there was a sudden gust of wind, and the ball landed somewhere unseen, deep into the accepting brush. As any good person must do, he went after the ball and told his friends that he would meet them tomorrow after school. As he looked around, he could not spot the ball at all. He searched for several minutes to no avail. Getting discouraged, he noticed in some areas there was a slight discoloration in the tall weeds, swaying a few feet away from him. Their color resembled more the dead brown of a Texas fall than the green of spring.

Investigating further, he followed the pattern deeper and deeper

into the woods. He felt more secure because he had his phone in his pocket. In fact, he was playing a YouTube video the whole time.

However, a mere phone could not save him. He had lost track of time; he had gone too deep. He would not be seen again.

As days turned to weeks, no one could find him. He, quite frankly, had disappeared.

One night, about a year later, a group of three students snuck onto the upper field at midnight.

It was unusually chilly for a day in late April. A classmate had dared them to go there because they were too afraid to watch horror movies with them. In this case, the three were not afraid. What could happen when there were no dangers around? However, something was amiss. At midnight, the whole earth seemed to quiet for a moment, and there was a faint voice in the woods—a voice not unlike a YouTube video playing on a phone.

Investigating further, they too de-

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cided to venture into the woods. It would be a fatal mistake. The three students would not be seen that day, the next day, or any day after.

After that disappearance, all were afraid to go to the upper field at night. And no one even thought about retrieving a stray ball that happened to fly into those cursed woods.

phone. But just as quickly as you see it, it will disappear, beckoning you into the woods. But do not, under circumstance, follow it. It may be the last thing you ever do.

Even to this day, if you have the courage, you can go to the Cistercian upper field.

If you listen closely right at midnight, all the crickets will stop chirping, the leaves will stop rustling, and you may just hear a faint voice emanating from deep inside those woods next to the upper field. Indeed, if you look even closer, you just might notice the even fainter glow of a Cub Gerber ’25 Upper Field Phantom

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The Darkness Harrison Moran ’29

Running, running, running My breath comes in ragged gasping My hair is plastered to my face My legs are trembling with the fear Of the darkness behind

A searing pain shoots up my leg My brain clouds with the shock My heart is beating slower and slower My breath comes in harsh gasps And fingers turning numb

Running, running, running My boots crunch through an icy stream My arms get scraped by vines My eyes are straining through the night Searching every shadow

The darkness is everywhere Calling my inner fear Coldness, seeping in me Eyelids closing, the will is gone All I feel is the cold

Running, running, running My legs pound even faster My sweat runs down my face My boots snag on a hidden root And I crash to the ground

Denise Williams Moonlit Walk

Enveloped by darkness My features laying prone My face cold and paling My clothes ripped and matted All alone in darkness

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Winter in Kerala: Pantoum

John Paul Jacob ’24

I breathe in smog and salt and Grandpa’s spices And headlights flicker off and on as rickshaws sputter I am not here; I yearn for home, and yet We reach into the trunk and get our bags And headlights flicker off and on as engines sputter Phantoms of the past and future float by in the dark We reach into the trunk and get our bags He always said he would be gone someday Phantoms of the past and future float by in the dark As I lie awake upon the creaking cot He always said he would be gone someday I didn’t know that day would come so soon As I lie awake upon the creaking cot The sun casts reddish rays upon the wall I didn’t know that day would come so soon And strange birds sing their old, indifferent song The sun casts reddish rays upon the wall I sweat beneath a Kerala winter’s heat And strange birds sing their old, indifferent song The sareed women cry; I hold the melancholy I sweat beneath a Kerala winter’s heat Christ comes to Earth, and we shall meet again The sareed women cry; I hold the melancholy I bear his body now upon my back Christ comes to Earth, and we shall meet again I am not here; I yearn for home, and yet I bear his body now upon my back I breathe in smog and salt and Grandpa’s spices

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What is Truth?

Byron Duhe ’25

What is truth to the one who is storming, fuming, raging And will muster and leverage anything to advance A shallow point?

What is truth to the willfully ignorant In the face of self-justifying passion?

What is truth to the lying, the boasting, the languishing Who never admit personal wrong?

What is truth to those who do not seek it, Do not feel it, do not live it, And it unravels within their grasp?

What is truth to them but a difficult reality, A far-off ideal, An unachievable aspiration?

What is truth to them but Nothing, nothing at all.

Truth, however, is living, breathing, liberating.

Respect it, cherish it, embrace it with every step.

Every minute action can weave a delicate tapestry Whose beauty draws one ever closer to what was regarded as impossible, The perception of Truth, truth which saves all.

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Dhruv Gohel ’28 The Petri Dish

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Staff Due to the exceptional conviviality and brotherly love involved in this production, all students deserved, at one time or another, to be senior editor, or senior art director/photographer, or senior expert in something. We decided to acquiesce to the sentiment of egalitarianism. Special kudos, of course, to our summer troupe of Henry, Cub, Stefano, Dylan, Tristan, and to the efforts of Mrs. Kara Dahl and Fr. Raphael, resident InDesign experts.

Will Edwards Henry Folmnsbee Cub Gerber Eddie Maurer Dylan Salcido Stefano Salomone

Tristan Yuen

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Letter from the Sponsors

Cistercian’s literary magazine has undergone a transformation this year—and not just in finding the balance between banana-smoothie yellow and texturized monastic windows (though I am quite excited about this year’s brilliant cover). No, this transformation has occurred deeply. It started with the small but dedicated group of juniors who managed, despite a number of obstacles and distractions, to work together in the first weeks of summer to finish a rather rough draft of a rather rough compilation of miscellaneous artwork, prose, and poetry that somehow managed to find a way onto InDesign pages during the school year—even without Fr. Stephen’s expertise. It started with a recognition that each member of this team of soon-to-be seniors, talented and involved in varied capacities, worked together throughout the school year to contribute something beautiful to the overall process. It started with humor, determination, collegial support, positive motivation, perseverance, and— through the grace of the Holy Spirit—the absolutely stunning production of the forty-first edition of Reflections.

Though the sponsors of this student-driven magazine are supposed to inspire and instruct, organize and encourage, initiate and guide (and any other number of things that require a seemingly impossible balance between managing and doing), it is rather the students who have educated the sponsors, for we have benefited from watching these young men work together. They have modeled the joy of cooperative learning and taken turns demonstrating leadership, tenacity, innovation, modesty, patience, kindness, respect, and quirky humor.

Thank you for teaching us to delight in the journey.

Now, as I close out these last thoughts about our multifarious senior editors, I want to relish the transformation. From I don’t know InDesign to Sure, I can do that. From prep school attire to Dolly Parton t-shirts. From Brookview band tunes (’12) to playlists designed by the most eclectic audiophiles from the class of ’25. From bites out of the wrong burrito to Sauce’s beef ribs (seriously). From tennis ball distractions to the final act. Welcome to Reflections 2024. We can’t wait to see what you do as seniors.

— Denise Williams and Adam Brooks, Faculty Sponsors

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Colophon Reflections is the annual literary/arts magazine for Cistercian Preparatory School in Irving, Texas.

Created by Upper School students, this edition of Reflections was created with Adobe InDesign 2024. Staff met during activities periods twice a week and culled prose, poetry, art, and photography from school-wide student submissions.

Titles are set in Modern No.20 (with some exceptions). The index, body text, and credits are set in Embury Text; point size varies.

Unattributed art and photography were submitted anonymously.